POETRY FOR SCHOOLS 



DESIGNED FOR 



READZXra AKD RECZTATZOK. 



THE 



IVHOI^E SELECTED FROi>I THE BEST POET«^ 



ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 



»Y THE AWTHOR OF AMERICAN POPULAR LESSON.^ 



Not mavble nor the gilded monunabiats 

Of priacav, shall ouUive this powerful rbjntie." 

ShMhspe^rf 



SICOND EDITION REVISED AND CORRECTED 



NEW-YORK % 



^IfSIlSHEB ET WHITE, GALLAHER AKD WHlTHv 
AUx. Ming Jr. Printtr, 

1830, 



.f\-3o 



8Z0 



Southern District of New-York, ss. 

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 23d day of Jauuarv m tn. 
fifty-secondyearof the Independence of the Um>P^ ^tifLc ^ V ? 

tnli^^'t^ "".f^^'] ^.^^^^^' oftL said' oYstnt ia^Idfpol'ed 
m this office, the title of a Book, the right ^rhereof they Sa^ 
proprietors, m the words foUowing, lu wit .- ^ '^'^ ^' 

Ju ^^^^P /Of Schools ; designed for Reading and Recitation Thr. 

*' Not marble, nor the gilded mouuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this poirerfiil rhyme. ' 

JSxl^r-^''^^^)^ ^^\^''^ ""^ *^^ Congress of the United-States. 
fjfi innip. ^ ^^ \^ '?® encouragement of learning, by securiqo 
the copies of maps, charts and books to the authors and proprietor? 

SnTL";?/.^!^ ^."^T^J^^ ^'"^^^ ^^^^'^ mentioned ;" And Si^ to 
?nr fhi t^l'^^^' ^^'^ ^^^'. ^"PPJen^entary to an Act entitled An Ac° 
Sf.i^f f^couragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps 
WnJ tV;« ? °*;k'' ^"^ ^^^ ^"^°"" ^°^ proprietors of such copies, du- 
Ti ?hi . '°?^*^^'"®'° mentioned, and extending Ihe benefits thereof 
priiits.^ designing, engraving, aud etching historical and othtr 

F. J. BETTS, 

Clerk of the Southera District of New- York. 

OCT 7j 1938 ^V 



CONTENTS. 



Pase. 



I'reface . - - - 

Nature of Poetry 
Figures of Speech 
History of English Poetry 
Spenser . . - - 

Sir Philip Sidney 
Sir Waller Raiei^g-h 
Una and the Red Cross Knight 
Chivalry . - - - 

. 3 Oak and the Briar— a fable 
Inscription for a bust of ShakBpearcB 
Shakspeare 
tSonnet to Shakspeare, 
lubert and Prince Arthur 

embroke, Salisbury, and Btgod, 

enry IV and Prince Heory 

enry V. and Chief Justice, 

?ne from Cymbeline, 
'on - - - • 

verses to My Father 
Sentence pronounced on Adam EBd Et©, 
The Departure from Paradise 
Parthia, 
Rome, 

Description of Rome 
Modern Rome 
Niobe, 
Athens 

The Lady in Comus, 
Song- in Comiis 
Comus and the Lady 
Dryden 
Tournaments 

Extracts from Palamon h Arcitc, 
Roadicea 
The Druids 

Scene from Caractacus 
Capture of Caraetacus 
War ton, - - ^- • 

The Grave of Prince Arthur, 
^Irs. Hemans, '"' 
3«rial of William the Conqueror, 



; 


VI 

13 




28 


. 


38 


. 


46 


. 


48 


= 


49 


Sptns&r^ 


60 


. 


52 


Sptnstr, 


56 


Akenside, 


59 


. 


60 


Milton, 


61 


Shakspeare 


63 


Skakspear, 


67 


Shakspeare, 


68 


Shakspeare, 


73 


Shakspeare, 


78 


. 


82 


Milton, 


84 


Milton, 


96 


Milton, 


88 


Milton, 


91 


Milton, 


92 


Pope, 


95 


Byron, 


97 


Pope's Homer, 911 


Milton, 


99 


Milton, 


101 


Milton, 


102 


Milton, 


102 


. 


107 


. 


107 


, 


113 


Cowper, 


118 


. 


120 


- Mason, 


121 


•Mason, 


123 


. 


126 


Waston, 


125 


. 


133 


[rs, Hemans, 


133 



CONTENTS. 

Extract fiom Windsor Forest - - Pope. 136 
The Crusades 

Tlie Crusade — a Poem - - - Warton, 

Joanna Bailie ... . - 

Prince Edward in prison - - - Mm Baillie, 

Prince Edward and his keeper, - - - - ib. - 

Sir Walter Scott - 

The Last Minstrel fValter Scott, 

tmprovisatori, Gatt, 

The Child of Branksorae .... Scott, - ib 

The Galliard's White Horse, - - - Scott, - 155 

Border Wars, Scott, - 158 

The Gathering- -:.... Scott, - 15i» 

Roderick Dhu, Scott, - 160 

The Alarm, - - - . . . - Scott, - 160 

TheTeviot Scott, - 161 

Lord Surrey, 16^ 

Surrey's Vision, Scott, - 16G 

Constance de Beverly . . _ . Scott, - 168 

Illustrations of the story of Constance ... 174 

Lady of the Lake, ..... Scott, - 17G 

The Chase, - Scott, - 177 

Ellen Douglas, - Scott, - 181 

Rokebv, - Scott, - 18H 

Matilda, Scott, ■ 187 

Redmond O'Neal, Scott, - 191 

Homer, - - 191 

Mose's Song:, Exodus, - 191 

Remarks on the lUiad and Odyssey, - - . 19i5 

Parting: of Hector and Andromache. - Popt's Homer 195 

Revenge of Achilles, - - • . . ib. 200 

Funeral of Hector . - . . ib. - 20J 

Sarpedon - - . - - . - ?6. - 205 

Death of Sarpedon - - . . ib. - 207 

Ulysses, - - - - - . ib. • 209 

Calypso, - - - . - . t6. - 21] 

Ulysses and Gryllus — from the French, - Fenelon, 2H 

Wisdom, - . - . - Proverbs, - 218 

Circt's Palace, . . - . Pope's Homer 219 

Argus, - - . - . . ib. . 220 

'tr^ek Poets .... . ooij 

Eschylus, .--..- - ib. 

Scene from the Tragedy of Eschylus, — Potter's Tran.'laitoi: 225 

l^ophocles ..--.- 227 

Antigone, - . - - - - 22S 

Antigone and Ismene, - - Franklin's Sophocles, 229 

Euripides, - - - - - - , . 232 

[phigenia, -..--- . 234 

Scene from the Trrgedy of IpUigenia, - Translation, ib. 

• phigenia and Chorus, - - - do. • 237 

Southey, .... |. - 239 

iloderick in Solitude, - - - Southey, 24" 



C'OSTENTi 



Pelayo and his Cliildren 

Relig-ion of Greece, 

Heavenly Love, . - . - 

Lord Byron, 

Nighi fit Corinth, 

Decapitation of Hugo, 

Prisoner of Chillon, • 

Turkey, . . . - . 

V^ision of Belshazzar, 

Battle of Waterloo, 

Ball of Brussels - - . . 

Wordsworth, - 

The Bee, 

Forsaken Indian Woman, - 

The Solitary Reaper, - - 

\ndrew Marvel I, . . . , 

The Emigrants, . . . . 

Henry Vaughan . . . 

Early Rising and Prayer 

The Timber, - . - 

The Rainbow, ... 

The Wreath, . . . . 

Thomson, .... 

Intellectual Labour - 

Collins, . . - - - 

Verses on the Death of Thomson 

Hassan, the Camel Driver , 

<^ay, 

The Butterfly anr^ the Snail, 

I'Le Hare aod ir^any Friends, 

Extract from the Pleasures of MerriOry, 

The Alps at Daybreak, 

Sir John Moore, - - - 

Verses on ihe Death of Sir John ?.loore 

Co'.vper, . . . - - 

The Poet, ... - 

Crazy Kate, - . . . 

A Tale, . - . . . 

Verses on a Spaniel, c^;(?. - 

Jveply to tlie Verses, 

Verses to Mrs. Bodhara, - 

The Castaway, .... 

The Loss of the Royal Georg-e, - 

Johnson, . . . . - 

Anningait and Ajut, 

Verses on the Death of Robert Levet, - 

Gray, - - . . ' . 

Ode on the Spring, - - - . 

Verses on the De'ath of a Cat, - 

Campbell, - . . - . 

Lochiel's WarniDg", 

Ode to V^' inter, . . - . 

1* 





Page. 


Southey, 


243 


Percival, 


246 


Southty, 


247 


- 


ib. 


Byron, 


248 


Byron, 


249 


Byron, 


250 


Byron, 


268 


Byron, 


ib. 


Byron, 


255 


Byron, 


2fi6 


- 


858 


Wordsioorth , 


259 


ib. 


26 i 


lb.. 


263 


. 


264 


Marvell, 


265 


. 


266 


Vaxmhan 


ib. 


tb. 


267 


- ib. 


267 


ib. 


268 


- 


260 


Thompson 


270 


- 


S72 


Collins, 


272 


ib. 


273 


- 


274 


Gay, 


275 


- ib. 


276 


Rogers^ 


278 


- ib. 


280 


- 


281 


TFolfe, - 


282 


- 


283 


Cowper, 


284 


ib. 


ib. 


ib. 


285 


2h. 


287 


ib. 


288 


ib. 


289 


ib. 


289 


ib. 


'291 


- 


292 


Johnsort, 


293 


ib. 


299 


- 


300 


Gray J 


300 


Gray, 


301 


- 


302 


Campbell, 


306 


ib. 


308 



I^•TRODUCTIO^. 

affected by their beauty, and that, in after life, when the 
higher powers have been cultivated they couhl discover 
their inspiration and enjoyments to have grown not only 
from nature but knowledge, 

This is certianly true of many who have read Shak- 
speare and Milton as tasks, or because they loved the 
sound of thcinvords — and that this fondness for the sound 
of poetry or oloquence docs exist in young minds, before 
the s'tbjects of cither can be comprehended, may some- 
times be observed. The writer has seen a boy of seven 
years listen to the pages of Burke with fixed and delight- 
ed attention, and has known a little girl two years young- 
er as much excited and gratified by the reading of fine po- 
etry — yet in both instances it was not a genuine com- 
prehension of beauty, but an influence of sympathetic 
affection. A parent's tastes, and animated pleasure, im- 
parted this lively interest to the fu!l-toned periods of the 
orator, and the magic numbers of the poet — and these 
early indications of taste and enthusiasm are rare. The 
greater part of young persons do not love literature, be- 
cause they do not understand it — do not begin at the be- 
ginning. In our common schools we make our children 
read disputes upon the comparative excellence of Reason 
and Revelation,* and require them to recite Pope's 
Messiah, the Dialogue between Brutus and Cassius, and 
a multitude more of difficult passage from the poets. I 
never knew a boy who could explain the first lines of the 
Messiah, or who could tell the matter of disputes be- 
tween the complotters of Caesar's death — and only be- 



See English Render, Dialoj^e between Locke tnd Bayle. 



INTKODUCTIO.N J a 

cause boys are not instructed in elementary lacts in re- 
lation in those pieces, or any others of this character. 
How repugnant this mode of cultivating literary taste is? 
to some highly endowed minds, is happily expressed by 
one whose memory, and whose genius*, in its creations 
will endure for ever. 

* =^ * * ''labbhord' 
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, 
The drill'd dulllesson, forced down word by word 
In my repugnant youth, with pleaureto record 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd 
My sickening memory ; and though Time hath taugh 

My mind to meditate what then it learn'd. 

Yet such the fixed inveteracy wrought 

By the impatience of my early thought 

That, with the freshness wearing out before 

My mind could relish what it might have sought 

If free to choose, I cannot now restore 
Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor.'' 



In a note upon these lines this high authority express 
es all that I would say upon this subject. " I wish,'' 
says Lord Byron, ** to express that we become tired of 
the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; that 
we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the 
freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and ad- 
vantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic antici 
pation, at an age when we can neither feel nor under- 
stand the compositions which it requires an acquain- 
tance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, 



INTRODUCTION. 

or to reason upon. For the same reason we never can 
be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of 
Shakespcar, ('To be or not to be,' for instance,) from 
the habit of having them hammered iftto us at eight 
years old, as an exercise, not of mind but memory : so 
that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste 
is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of 
the Continent, young persons are taught from more 
common authors, and do not read the best classics till 
their maturity." 

In conformity to these views, and my own experience in 
relation to education, I have endeavored to prepare a 
school-book ; and in order to compose it, I resorted to 
the purest fountains of English verse, and took what I 
found suitable to my humble purpose. I left the more 
elevated and sublime portions of the poets who supplied 
mc, and appropriated to my selection such passages only 
as I believed wGuld, with a little exposition, be useful 
and agreeable to young readers. As a bird does not lead 
her new-fledged offspring to the skies in her first flight 
with them, so I would dictate short excursions to the 
unformed faculties of the human mind, that young 
readers, feeling their own power and felicity as they 
proceed, may at length be able and willing, without 
assistance, to ascend " the brightest heaven of inven 
lion." 

In the modes of education in present fashion, civil and 
political history is presented to young minds at an early 
period of study, but literary history — the peaceful influ- 
ence of mind upon mind — is wholly neglected ; and those 
who arc initiated in the most remarkable passages of 
Shakspearc, Milton, and other great authors, are taught 



INTRODUCTION. jX 

lothirig at school of these memorable men and their con- 
;emporaries. It is a debt posterity which owes to genius, 
;o attach the memory of the man to his works, and to 
ieep him and his contemporaries in the view of sue 
seeding ages. I had only sufficient space simply to intro- 
hice authors and their relations to contemporary society. 
3ut I intended to suggest this relation, to awaken inquiry, 
give my readers some acquaintance with the history 
)f English poets and poety, and also to show them the 
•elations of English poetry to the rest of their intellectual 
Kirsuits. I hope my purpose will be eiFecied, and that 
Poetry for Schools will be acceptable' to teachers and 
)upils. 

miv-Yorh, July, 1830. 



POETRY FOR S0H0OX.S. 

..►►^«"«^ 

NATURE OF POETRY. 

Whatever exists, is divided into mind and matter. Philosophers 
Jo not accurately define the difference of mind and matter, but the 
body of animals, or living beings, which appears to die, and the 
" insensible clod" which we tread upon, are composed of matter. 
Every creature possessed of animal hfe, is, in some degree, " in- 
stinct with spirit" — en<'owed with some consciousness of v. ants, 
and some sense of supply and of enjoyment — thisw intelligence. 
Intelligence, in man, is called Mind. 

The minds of men are very different — some are wise, and others 
are foolish — some minds acquire great knowledge, and others on- 
ly understand a few facts. Boys at school call others who are ea- 
sily puzzled in arithmetic, or who are incapable of learning long 
lessons dunces. Those u ho are capable of thinking with attention, 
who acquire knowledge readily, and who accurately renjember 
what they have learned, are said to possess abilities ; and one, 
who besides learning his tasks with facility, can compose verses, or 
write a story of his cwn invention, possesses genius. Some me7i 
excel others as the boy of genius excels the dunce. The genius 
and the dunce grow to be men, but they always remain the genius 
and the dunce. 

Genius is, properly, the talent of discovery — the talent in one 
mind of conceiving, and of displaying to others something pre- 
viously unthought of Genius is a capability to produce much 
advantage and pleasure to mankind. Genius may be very differ- 
ently employed by differeat individuals. Columbus was a man of 
genius. He manifested his genius when he meditated in one 
hemisphere of our globe upon another which had never been 
explored, when he devised means to navigate unknown seas, and 
when he persevered in his great enterprise till he had accomplish- 
ed it. Mr. Fulton, the mechanician, who applied the steam engine 
to navigation, was a man of genius. Benjamin West, the painter, 
was a man of geniua* He painted roany fine pictures, and 



14 rOETRY rOR SCHOOLS. 

raong others, the subjects of which were taken from the gospelj 
*' Christ healing the sick." In this picture, Mr. West represent- 
ed in his gracious countenance the benevolence of Jesus ; a va- 
riety of diseases in those who surrounded him ; and the emotions 
of desire, hope and gratitude in those who expected to be, or who 
had been restored to health. The power to do all this so much 
surpasses the powers of common men that it serves for a clear 
illustration of genius. 

Bonaparte who conquered in many battles, by his power of 
contolling other men obtained thefirst magistracy m Freancand 
who after dethroning kings in Europe, gave kingdoms to his 
brothers ; and who, after having slain his thousands and tens of 
thousands, devised wise and practical improvements in the condi- 
tion of those he permitted to live, was a man of great genius — 
though he is only to be admired and imitated so far as he effected 
or intended good to mankind. — But there is another order of ge- 
nius — men, who having ceased to live, still speak — who are 
known and honoured for their thoughts when then actions are 
forgotten, and with whom we may be familiar, thongh we can 
never see them. These are the authors of books, who have re- 
corded their beautiful ideas, that others may be better, and wiser^ 
and happier than they could be without the intelligence supplied 
from these divine minds. Shakspeare, who wrote the plays 
which almost every reader of the English language possesses ; 
and Milton, the author of Paradise Lost, were men of this class 
of genius. 

We should be thankful to God that such men have ever lived. 
They exalt our nature, and procure for us pleasures which we 
could not enjoy if some minds did not differ from others in glo- 
ry. — If we could not enrich our understandings with the thoughts 
of others, we should be like savages, in ignorance — or like bees 
and beavers : men of no age would be more cultivated or impro- 
ved than their ancestors who lived centuries before them. 



The body has different functions : eyes for seeing, ears for 
hearing, &c. The mind also has its different operations. After 
we have been instructed in the nature of different objects, and 
have been taught their names, and the proper use of our senses, 
we learn to distinguish one substance from another, and we re- 
member the qualities of these various substances ; thus, if a 
lighted lamp and a rose are set before us, we instantly compre- 
hend that the lamp is an invention of art, and the rose a produc- 
tion of nature j that the lamp is for use, and the rose for orna- 



rOETBY rOE SCHOOLS. lu 

ment ; that the lampjlame diffuses hght and heat, and that the 
ose dehghts us by its beauty and its fragrance. 

The different properties of these objects, though they were 
first perceived by tlie senses of sight and smell are comprehended 
by the mi7id. This consciousness of the presence of the lamp 
and t\)erose, given to the mind by the sight and smell, is called a 
perception VVe receive from the presence of these objects a 
certain feeling that they indeed exist and are before us. This 
exhibition to our minds of the lamp and the rose, we call a de- 
monstration^ or certainty. We understand thatthelamp and the 
rose are not ahke — we then distinguish or compare them, and 
comprehend the different qualities of the two things. When wo 
reflect, as we must, upon the different properties of these objects, 
we exert the power of comparing things, which is judgment. 

But suppose we did not see either of these objects, and, 
should read the falh>wing passages of poetry : 

" How far the little candle throws its beams !" 

Shaltspeare, 
And, 

" I will show you what is beautiful : it is a rose fully blown. 
See how she sits upon her mossy stem, hke the queen of all the 
flowers. Her leaves glow like fire, and the air is filled with her 
sweet odour." — Barhauld. 

In reading the former passage, we should immediately remem- 
ber, that in stjme dark night, while we were yet far from a house 
we clearly perceived the light of a candle, and we know the 
light to have proceeded from that candle to our eyes. We first 
knew this by d. perception of »he light, and we comprehend that 
the light was a candle flame, and not another thing by our judg- 
ment. When we read of the extended reach of the candle beams, 
we know that the fact mentioned is true, because it has been de- 
monstrated to us at a former time. The present certainty of for- 
merly acquired knowledge, is the memory of that knowledge. 
As we know Jiow far the little candle throws its heams, so wc 
also know that the properties of the rose are well described. 
With our eyes shut, and far from the candle or the rose, we com- 
prehend the properties of both objects — we perceive them with 
the " mind's eye." as Shakspeare says. This mind's eye is the 
imagination. Before the imagination can be employed upon 
absent objects, that is, before we can think about, or reflect upon, 
absent objects, we must exert the powers of Perception, Judg- 
ment and Memory. 

It is, then, by effort of memurv and of imagination that wc 



POETRY Ton SCHOOLSv 

form an idea of absent objects ; and by imagination we compre- 
hend what is written in books, or represented in pictures which 
exhibit beautiful images. The imagination of an ignorant per- 
son is not powerful — he thinks almost always .of objects before 
liis eyes ; but the imagination of a fine poet is a noble faculty. 
The poet, or the artist, comprehends and feels more than other 
men, and he makes others feel, in some measure, as he feels. 
The imagination of him wiio writes a fine poem, or a tale, produ- 
ces invention, or the combination and composition of something 
new. The imagination of .1 well instructed jierson, who perhaps 
can invent nothing, produces taste — which is a power of taking 
pleasure in something beautiful and elegant that may be presented 
to us. The same taste, or enjoyment of the beautiful, must exist 
in the mind of the writer of a poem or tale, or in tlie mind of an 
artist, as well as in tliat of a person who delights in reading a 
poem, or beholding a good picture The sympathy of taste makes 
the poet write — he expects to be admired, unci t) e same sym- 
pathy makes other persons admire and enjoy the works of genius. 
AD that is written in books is literature. Literature is written 
ianguage : it is divided into 2?ro«e and |>oeiri/. Quadrupeds have 
four feet, is a prose sentence. 

*• Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air," 

h poetry. Poetry is generally written in verse Verse is a cer- 
tain measure or quantity of sound, expressed in words, at regular 
times, during the whole of a poem. This measure or metre, 
consists of a certain number of syllables in the printed lines of a 
poem. 

*' Heroic metre, which is the most usual kind, consists of lines 
of ten syllables. *Pope's and Milton's works are chiefly written 
in this metre ; but Pope wrote in rhyme, and Milton chiefly in 
blank verse : — 

* Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep. 

Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep.' — Pope* 

Each of these lines consist of ten syllables ; and the last words 
of each of them, ' creep' and sheep,'' rhyme to each other ; that 
is, they resemble each other in sound. 

* Ye mists and exhalations that now rise 

From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, 

Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold.' — j\UltQU< 

*Pope and Milton. are English poets. 



POETRY I OK SCHOOLS. 17 

Each of these lines also consists of ten syllables ; but though 
■hey are not in rhyme, we easily distinguish them from prose. 
The difference consists in the choice of words, and in their ar- 
rangement, as may be perceived by reading the same words in an. 
order different from that in which they are at present placed. 
The ear will then 'feel that the cadance or sound is unlike prose : 
and the understanding will know that the sense is conveyed in 
words different from those used in history or in a newspaper. 

All verses are not written in lines of ten syllables ; some are 
written in eight, and some few in twelve ; indeed we meet with 
lines in poetry of every number of syllables from three to four- 
teen. 

In poetry words are not used literally^ as for the most part, in 
prose. Snow is ti'hife^ expresses what is literally true — The 
words, snow is wJdte, exactly express what we know to be true ; 
but, the golden sun diffuses his beams over the face of nature^ is 
an expression d\XegQ\.\\ei figurative. We understand not that the 
sun is gold, but that his yellow lustre resembles the appearance 
of gold. These words only signify that the sun shines upon the 
surface of the earth, and the objects which are upon the earth- 
Truth describes something which really exists, as God made the 
world. Fiction describes something which might exist, or has 
been supposed to exist, yet is not now really in existence. One 
of Gay's Fables begins, 

" Remote from cities lived a swain," 
and proceeds to relate a conversation of a shepherd and a philo- 
sopher. There have been many shepherds and philosophers; 
but probably no particular shepherd and philosopher ever met, 
and held the conversation which Gay describes ; yet a shepherd 
and philosopher might talk together in that manner. Gay's 
Shepherd and Philosopher is a Fable or Fiction. It is proper to 
distinguish between fiction and a lie. A fiction is an avowed iU' 
vention — a Lie is a false declaration intended to deceive. 



English poetry includes the inventions of English poets, and 
their translations from other languages: from Greek and Latin, 
and from the modern languages of Europe, besides a few from 
the oriental, or Asiatic languages. Owr poetry, (for whatever ie 
written in the English language properly belongs to the Ameri- 
cans who speak it,) is divided into many kinds : the Sacred;, 
Classical, Romantic, Dramatic, &c. Sacred Poetry relates to 
serious subjects, to the scriptures, and to the praise of God. Mil- 
ton's Paradise Lost, and Watts's Hymns, are sacred poetry^ ae^ 

2* 



1 5 POETBV^ FOR SCHOOL^i 

SO arc many parts of the Old Testament. Classica'C poetry is 
that which has been translated from Greek and Latin. Pope'B 
translation of Homer's Iliad, and Dryden's translation of Virgil, 
are classical Poetry. Romantic Poetry, or metrical romance^ re- 
lates a tale in verse : as the Lady of the Lake, by Sir Walter 
Scott. Dramatic poetry is composed of poems in Dialogue, or 
discourse of persons which relates a story : Shakspeare's Lear, 
and the tragedy of Douglas, are of this class. 

In order to understand the greater part of pociry, it is necessa- 
ry to know something of Mythology and Classical Fable. A 
young reader may get this information from the Classical Diction- 
ary, a book in very common use. Poetry which relates to fie- 
tions taken from the north of Europe, alludes often to Scandina- 
vian Mythology, or to the superstitions of the more northern na- 
tions of Europe. The writers of Romantic poetry have supplied 
notes to their works, which make their text very clear. 

The Epic poem relates a long history of some great event. It 
has what is called the beginning, middle, and end of the action. 
The beginning is the cause of what follows ; the middle relates 
the progress or carrying-on of the action : the end is its catastro- 
phe^ or finishing. Homer's Iliad is an Epic poem — the story re- 
lated in^it, is a war between the Princes of Greece and those ol 
Troy. The cawse of the war was the elopement of Helen, a 
Grecian princess, with a young Trojan. The war itself consis- 
ted of a series of engagements or battles between the Greeks 
and Trojans, which are described by Homer in many successive 
books of the Iliad ; and ihe catastrophe, or end of the poem, is 
the death of Hector, the Trojan prince, who alone could defend 
Troy ; and the destruction of that city by the Greeks, must be 
supposed immediately to follow. 

When a long tale in verse relates some private history, which 
includes but a small number of persons in the action, it is Metri- 
cal Romance. 

The Ode was perhaps originally designed to be sung. It is a 
poem usually addressed to some real or ideal personage, or it cele- 
brates some distinguished individual. Gray's Ode to Spring, is 
addressed to the season of Spring, upon the supposition that she 
is a female, endowed with the capacity of knowing what is ad- 
dressed to her, and of answering the prayer of the poet. Dry- 
den's Alexander's Feast, is an ode which celebrates the music of 
the ancients, but it was first written to be recited or sung on St. 
Cecilia's Day. St. Cecilia is a Catholic Saint, the supposed 
inventress of the harp. A painter has represented her attended 
% St. Peter and St. Paul, with an angel hovering over thwn 



rOETKX FOR SUHOOLS. ID 

listening to the music she made, which was to represent,, that it 
was beheved she drew angels from Heaven. Mr. Dryden writes 
thus of her : 

*' At last divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 

Enlarged the former narrow bounds^ 

And added length to solemn sounds. 
With nature's mother-wit, and art unknown before. 

Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 

He raised a mortal to the skies, 

She drew an angel down.'' 

Dryden in Alexander's Feast represents that after his conquest 
f>f Persia, Alexander of Macedon celebrated his victory in a great 
festival at Persepolis ; that upon this occasion Timotheus played 
upon the lyre, a stringed instrument in use among the Greeks, and 
sang various kinds of airs. Timotheus began his songs, by pro- 
claiming that Alexander ,was the son of Jove, the supreme god 
of the Greeks ; and Alexander, in his weak folly believed him 
In this sense Timotheus " raised a mortal to the skies." Some 
centuries after Timotheus lived, it is said that St. Cecilia "en- 
larged the bounds" of ancient music, by the invention of the 
harp — an instrument with more strings, and capable of produ- 
cing a greater variety of sounds than the ancient lyre. 

It was customary among tlie Greeksfor musicians or poets, who 
excelled all others to receive a wreath, or crown at the pubhc fes- 
tivals, as a mark of admiration from those who heard them, and as 
the reward of their excellence. Timotheus might have received 
such ^a crown, but Dryden because she surpassed him in his art 
commands him to resign it to St. Cecilia'or to divide it with her. 

If in prose writing, an author should speak of two persons 
living at different periods of time, as contemporaries ^ or existing 
together, it would be called an anachronism, or disregard of time 
— but poets are sometimes allowed to sp'jak thus, and their liberty 
to exceed the limits of strict truth, is poetic license. 

The Elegy is a melancholy poem, written upon some subject 
which of itself excites the feeling of sadness. The most popu- 
lar and most beautiful elegy in our language, is Gray's, upon a 
country churchyard. It celebrates no distinguished individual, 
but was composed under a deep feeling that it is appointed to all 
men, once to die ; and, that each " in his narrow bed forever 
iaid," all men are equals or in the same condition. A tender. 



2D rOETHY FOK FCUOOLS. 

sorrow for tlic fate of the dead, and a veneration for those moral 
and intellectual capacities for excellence and happiness, which 
God dispenses without respect to fortune or power, seem to have 
inspired this most exquisite production. The young cannot com- 
prehend all its beanty and trutii, but in mature life, it is impossi- 
ble that he who feels for all that live, should not be affected by 
this sweet picture of the lot of mortality, and the virtues of hum- 
ble life. 

The Ballad is a narrative song. Ballads are usually composed 
among a rude people in the early ages of society, and after so- 
ciety becomes more highly civilised, some writers imitate the old 
ballads ; but m highly polished communities ballads are too sim- 
ple to please as new and original, — to be interesting, they must, 
refer to the manners of a past age. The Children in the Wood 
is a pretty bailad, and well known. 

The Eclogue is a narrative, or descriptive poem, meant to ex- 
liibit the particular manners of some few individuals in a country. 
The Eclogue is often a conversation. Collins' Eclogues are raucii 
read — one of them, Hassan the Camel Driver, will be found in 
this collection. 

Satire, in its best character, is a moral lecture in verse — a cen- 
sure upon something whirh is respected without deserving to be 
so — of some pfT^on who is generally approved, or of some pre- 
vailing conrfwci which is allowed without much blame. Satire 
endeavours to make its subject, whatever it is, contemptible. Sa- 
tire is sometimes wholesome correction of what is wrong, and 
sometimes it is mean malignity, the spirit which a writer of talents 
expresses against some person whom he unworthily hates. Juve- 
nal's Satires from the Latin are translated into the English — they 
describe the corrupt manners of the people in Rome, during the 
reigns of the emperors, Xero, Domitian, and Trajan. In English 
poetry. Pope's and Young's Satre's are of this description — 
they attack follies and persons, ridiculous in their time. Satire is 
like a caricature, it diverts when first known, but unless it is very 
just and happy, it soon ceases lo give pleasure. 

The Epitaph is designed for a memorial of the dead, and is 
generally a few verses inscribed upon a tombstone. The fol- 
wing has been much admired. 

*' ON THE C0I7NTESS OP PEMBROKE. 

*' Underneath this sable hearse 
liies the subject of all verse. 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. 
Death, ere thou hast killed another 



IPOETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 21 

Fair, and learned, and good as she, 

Time shall throw a dart at thee." — Ben Johnson, 

This epitaph expresses very higii praise. Before another so 
, exalted by all merit as this lady was, should die, Death himself 
would cease to number his victims, for she surpassed all who 
should live after her. But this 13 hyperbole, or exaggeration. 
These lines are pretty, B.::d epigrammatic, that is the words have a 
variety of meaning, unexpectedly and happily presented to the 
mind of ihe reader — but they are wantmg in simplicity. Sim- 
plicity is a single purpose. — 7'he epitaph not only praises Lady 
Pembroke, it intimates the disrrjily of her brother, Sir Philip Sid- 
ney, and of her son, the earl of Pembroke, and it disparages the 
rest of her sex by comparison with her ; — still it is, — (as we 
sometimes apply this rvord to expressive language,) very happy) 
it conveys much in a few words. One of Mr. Pope's epitaphs is 
a very pure and beautiful tribute to a good woman. 

" EPITAPH Oy MBS. CORBET. 

** Here rests a v»'oman good without pretence, 
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense. 
No conquest she but o'er herself desired, 
No art essayed, but not to be admired. 
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown 
Convinced that virtue only is our own, 
So unaffected so composed a mind. 
So firm, yet soft, so strong. yet-Sufeh"n*d 
Heaven, ?•= its -purest gold, by tortures tried — 
The saint sustained it, but the woman died." 

The simplicity of this epitaph is perfectly obvious. 

The Epigram is a few verses expressing a perspicuous and 
pointed meaning, and it usually conveys a brief satire. Mild 
William Clarke, grandfather to Dr. Clarke the traveller, com- 
posed an epigram on seeing the inscription which is engraved 
over the vault, or family tomb of the Dukes of Richmond. — The 
inscription is Damns ultima — m English, the last house y and the 
epigram, the following : — 

** Did he who thus inscribed the wall 
Not read or not believe Saint Paul. 
Who says there is, where'er it stands. 
Another house not made with hands — 
Or may we gather from these words 
That house is not a house of Lords T'^ 



POETKY For SCHOOTS. 



IheTvnter here intimates that something which suggests the 
idea of eternal hfe, ought to be written ever the place of the body's 
interment. St.. Pa„l says, in the New Testament, and alludin.- 
to the immortality of the soul, there is " a house not made with 
hands, eternal m the heavens." Our Saviour says, - in my fatli 
er s house arc many mansions,"— many places suitable to be as 
signed to my followers in a future atate of existence. Mr. Clarke, 
who was a christian, on seeing the toHib of the Lords of Ricli- 
mond, instantly thought of those other mansions of the dead : 
and because this noble race thus appeared to regard the grave as 
their last rest, he means at once to satirise and reprove their 
seeming unbelief, by insinuating, that, perhaps the heavenly ha^ 
bitation mentioned by Paul would not suit the pride of Lords, or 
that Lord-, though they enjoy high honours on earth, might be 
excluded from an inheritance in heaven. 

Besides, the kinds of poetry, that have been mentioned, there 
^roihemachheroic, and the pastoral. The. i/ioc7c-heroic gives a 
tanciful importance to trivial things. The commencement of 
t^owper's Task is mock-heroic The poet describes the orogres- 
sive elegance of seats at dilferent times in Britijiin. The whole 
passage is sprightly and amusing. ^' 

^ ''Time was, when^clothing sumptuous or for use, 

feave their own painted skins, our sires had none. 

As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth, 

Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 

The hardy ehiei^upcr! the rugged rock 

Washed by the sea, or on the grave!!}' bsnk 

Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring l(»ud, 

Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. 

Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 

Th<^ birthday of invention ; weak at first. 

Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 

.Toint stools were then created ; on three legs 

Upborne they, stood. Three legs upholding firm 

A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 

On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 

And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms: 

And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 

May still be seen ; but perforated sore, 

And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found, 

By worms voracious eating through and througli. 

At length a generation more refined 
Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, 



ttoETJir FOK SCHOOLS. ^,"5 

Gave them a twisted form Termicular, 
And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed^ 
Induced a splendid cover, gr&en and blue, 
Yellow and red, of tapestrv lichly wrought 
And woven close, or needlework sublime. 
There might you see the piony spread wide, 
The fuil-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
Lapdog and lambkin with biack staring eyes, 
.^nd parrots with twin cherries in their beak. 

Now came the cane from India smooth and bright 
With Nature's varnish ; severed mto stripes, 
That interlaced each other, these supplied 
Of texture firm a lattice work, that braced 
The new machine, and it became a chair. 
But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; 
The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part 
That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down, 
Anxious in vain to find the distaut floor. 

These for the rich : the rest, whom Fate had placed 
In modest mediocrity content 
"With base materials, sat on well tann'd hides. 
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy sjpooth, 
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, 
Or scarlet crewel, m the cushion fixod, 
If cushion might be call'd, what harder seemed 
Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed. 

No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say. 
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived -, 
And some»scribe the invention to a priest, 
Burly and big and studious of his ease. 
But rude at first and not with easy slope 
Receding wide they pressed against the ribs, 
And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, 
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 

Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires 
Complained, though incommodiously pent in, 
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. 
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
Than when employed to accommodate the fair, ,. 



24 POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 

The soft settee ; une elbow at oach end 

And in the midst an el!H)w it received. 

United y«t divided, twauj aj once. 

So sit two kings of Brtntford on one throne ; 

And so two citizens, who take the air, 

Close packed and srnihng. mi ^ chaise and one. 

But relaxation of the languid frame, 

By soft recumbency of ouistretched limbs, 

Was bliss reserved for iiajjpier days. So slow 

The prowth of what is excellent; so hard 

To attain perfection in this nether world. 

Thus first Necessity invonlert stools, 

Convenience 7iext suggested elbow-chairs, 

And Luxury the accomplished sofa last." 

Pastoral poetry, as the name indicates, describes the shepherd's 
life, and indeed many modns ot' rural occupation and pleasure 
In America we have no peisons professedly devoted to the care of 
flocks, but in Asia arid Eurone, fr»an time immemorial, this mode 
of life has been followed by oon^iHprable numbers. It is neces- 
sarily lonely and quiet, and disposes tiie mind to reflection. 
When Moses was a shepherd in Midian, he saw the vision of 
God ; when the shepherds mentioned by St. Luke, were '' keep- 
ing watch over their flocks by night, the glory of the Lord shone 
round about them." There is something pesuliarly innocent and 
interesting in the occupation ofsl^epherds ; and the state of their 
minds, detached from the conimon business of life, may be dipos- 
cd to be highly favourable to poetic thought ; but notwithalanding 
this presumtpion, Pa.s<ora/Poefry IS out of date — little read, and, 
at present, not at all written. Many English poets from Chaucer to 
Shenstone have written Pastorals. Ambrose Phillips, a contem- 
porary of Pope, wrote pastorals belter than he vrote any thing 
else. As a specimen of this species of poetry, an extract from 
Philhps' Pastorals is subjoined. Two shepherds meet annually 
to bewail the loss of one of their young compeers ; one of them^ 
Angelot, here rehearses the praises of the dead Albino : 

*' Thus yearly circling, by-past times return ; 
And yearly, thus. Albino's death we mourn. 
Sent into lu'e, alas ! how short thy stay : 
How sweet the rose ! how speedy to decay ! 
Can we forget. Albino dear, thy knell, 
Sad-sounding wide from every village bell 5 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Can we forget how sorely Albion moaned, 
That hills, and dales, and rocks, in echo groaned, 
Presaging future wo, when for our crimes, 
We lost Albino, pledge of peaceful times, 
Fair boast of this fair island, darling joy 
Of nobles high, and every shepherd boy? 

No joyous pipe vvas heard, no flocks were seen, ' 
Nor shepherds found upon the grassy green, 
No cattle grazed the field, nor drank the flood. 
No birds were heard :o warble through the woocL 
In yonder gloomy grove outstretch'd he lay 
His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay ; 
On his cold cheek the rosy hue decayed 
And o'er his lips the deadly blue displayed : 
Bleating around him lie his plaintive sheep, 
And mournmg shepherds come, in crowds, to weep. 

Young Buckhurst comes : and, is there no redress 
As if the grave regarded our distress ? 
The tender virgins come, to tears yet new, 
And give, aloud, the lamentations due. 
The pious mother comes, with grief opprest : 
Ye trees and conscious fountains, can attest 
With what sad accents and what piercing cries, 
She fill'd the grove, and importuned the skies, 
And every star upbraided with his death. 
When in her widow'd arms, devoid of breath. 
She clasp'd her son : nor did the nymph, for this, 
Place in her darling's welfare all her bliss, 
Ilim teaching, young, the harmless crook to wield 
And rule the peaceful empire of the field. 

As milk-white swans on streams of silver show. 
And silvery streams to grace the meadows flow, 
As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn. 
So thou, to thine, an ornament was born. 
Since thou delicious youth, didst quit the plains, 
Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains, 
In laboured furrows sow the choice of wheat, 
And, over empty sheaves, in harvest sweat ; 
A thin increase our fleecy cattle yield ; 
And thorns, and thistles, overspread the field. 
How all our hope is fled hke morning-dew ! 
And scarce did we thy dawn of manhood view. 

Who now shall teach the pointed spear to throw. 
To whirl the sling, and bend the stubborn bowj 
3 



-0 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To toss the quoit with steady aim, and far, 
With sinewy force, to pitch the mass} bar : 
Nor dost thou hve to bless thy mother's days, 
To share her triumphs, and to feel her praise.. 
In foreign realms to purchase early fame, 
And add new glories to the British name. 
O, peaceful may thy gentle spirit rest ; 
The flowery turf lie light upon thy breast ; 
Nor shrieking owl, nor bat, thy tomb fly round, 
Nor midnight goblins revel o'er the ground !" 

Poetry is descriptive when it exhibits the appearances of na- 
ture, as in Mr. Bryant's Green River— A?/772omw* wf en it would 
excite laughter, as in Byroin's Three Black Crows— pathetic 
when it induces the feelings of sadness and i)ity.— Gray's El«gy 
is pathetic. When humorous poetry excUes contempt for any 
object by assuming dignity ef style in representing it, we call it 
hurlesque. 

It may be remarked that poetry does not consist merely ol 
measured words, but of poetic ideas. Common business, what- 
ever relates to gaining money, and to supplying the mere wants 
of the body, is not poetical. What ever employ- the imagina- 
tion without regard to bodily wants— God and his works, the 
mind and its pleasures, great actions of good men, the appear- 
ance of the heavens and the beauty of the earth, and the hopes 
and probable enjoyments of another life, are poetical subjects. 
There is a proper rnanner or style of writing upon thtse subjects, 
more dignified and more refined than that which we use in ordi- 
nary writing : this is the poetic style, and it admits of ornaments 
which are explained by Rhetoric. Grammar informs us how to 
speak and write withprqpnefj/. Rhetoric lusirucis us to do both 

with elegance. -r i ^ i c 

Rules do not convey exact ideas of a just and beautiful style ot 
%vriting : they are usefiil, but notsufi^cient. Good examples set 
before a writer, and good sense and good taste on his part, aro 
necessary to make him write well ; and the careful and intelligent 
reading of the best books in his own language, is the best help 
which any young person can find to exalt and multiply his own 
ideas, or to create the power of expressing them with effect upon 
others. 

The ^enius of a man determines whether he shall be a fine poet, 
an oriiinal artist, or an eloquent orator ; but genius does not de^ 



POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 2. 

toraiine whether whatever he does shall be done well or ill ; his 
education, his habits, and his own will determine that. Industry 
and application of mind, are the means of miproving all the fa- 
culties. Taste consists in the knowledge of what is beautiful 
and proper, and in the love of it. If a young person be careless 
how bespeaks and writes, if his desire of excellence be no higher 
than to spell well, and to be amused by books, he has no chance 
of any high enjoyments derived from literature. A gentleman 
really accomplished, capable of sustaining any eminence with 
honour, must know how to converse and to write well, and to form 
a correct judgment of the abilities of others in these respects. 

A person accustomed to books, and desirous of expressing his 
thoughts well in writing or discourse, must know what is proper 
and elegant in the style of writing which he attempts, and also 
the style of conversation suited to his associates. Perhaps there 
is no mortification more frequently felt than that of an embarrass- 
ed speech, a want of self-satisfying power to give ready utterancQ 
of one's thoughts. This may be obviated by careful and early 
study, and by a habit of committing our ideas to writing We 
ought to know what terms are suitable to ordinary discourse. A, 
person who reads much becomes pedantic or bambasiicaL if he 
does not learn that the subjects and language of his books arc 
somewhat distinct from the topics which sprinff up in common 
conversation ; but his conversation will be corrupted if he does 
not bear in mind the corrections which vulgar speech may take 
from an intimacy with good authors ; and his written composi 
lions, will not attain their suitable elegance unless he knows what 
is proper. 

What is proper, is the style which the best writers have agreed 
to consider proper. The models of what is proper must be 
known — we must read poetry and prose to know them. We are 
not obliged exactly to imitate any style of writing. If we under- 
stand and love what we read, our minds will be conformed to the 
spirit of our reading ; and if we have talents we may improve 
iipon the manners of others. No artist could have formed the 
statue of a god who had never seen a man, but having seen and 
stU'iied the human figure, images far surpassing the beauty of any 
individual man have been formed. Books are in every house ,: 
instruction lifts up her voice every where, we have nothing to do 
but to read, to listen, to think of these things, and to elevate our- 
selves above " the vulgar flight of low desire,'* to be all that wc 
ought to be. 

Poetry is so happily adapted to our faculties that its construc- 
tion catches the ear instantly, it fastens upon the mindj assimi- 



'^ POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

lates our thoughts to its suggestions, and is held more tenaciously 
in the memory than any other part of our knowledge which is not 
connected with the mere preservation of Hfe. The pleasure it af- 
fords as a luxury of imagination is incalculable, and as a purify- 
ing influence upon the heart and life, its moral benefit is beyond 
estimation. We cannot love things high and holy, and thinsfs 
mean and unworthy, at the same tune. Poetry utters the oracles 
of God ; she is the voice of wisdom : let us seek for instruction 
from her inspiration. She is the handmaid of religion, her flights 
are upward, and her dwelling place is Heaven ; let us follow- 
whither she will lead us, there is the throne of the Almighty, and 
there is the intelligence of angels, there will be the last growth 
of our minds, and there the higiiest felicity of our nature. 

FIGURES OF SPEECH. 

i 

Figures of speech are properly ornaments of written language, 
embellishments of thought, and illustrations of fact, associated 
ideas brought before the mind of a writer or speaker, and exhib- 
ited to other minds, in order to set off or adorn some primary ob 
^ect of thought; thus, 

"The rose, with feeble streak 

^0 slightly tinged the maiden's cheek. 

That you had said her hue was pale," &c. 

-^ Rokeby, Canto iv. 

The primary, or first idea in this example, is the delicate glow 
of Matilda^s cheek ; the associated idea is the pale red of a faint- 
ly coloured rose. The idea of the rose serves to convey to the 
mind of a reader the idea of the tint of Matilda's cheek, by inducing 
a comparison between the two objects — that is, by making him 
think of both at the same time. Figures of speech are very impres- 
sive illustrations of ideas, when the figure is suitable to the pri- 
mary idea. From the print of an elephant, as he may some- 
times be seen in books, one who had never seen an elephant, 
could not form a just notion of his size ; but if the figure of a 
man, in proper proportion, should be placed near that of the ele- 
phant it would be obvious ; and by comparing the two objects, a 
tolerably correct notion of it might be formed. The figure of 
the man serves for an illustration. In a similar way, the image 
or thought presented to the mind by a figure o^ speech, illustrates, 
or makes plain, some original or fore-mentioned idea. 

A simile, or comparison, is a figure of speech. It shows one 
thing, or circumstance, to be like another. The latter subject 



I»0ETRY TOR SCHOOtSv St» 

of the comparison, illustrates the former part. Here is a simil'j 
taken from Parnell's Hermit : — 

»' Then pleased and thankful from the porch they go, 
And, but the landlord, none had cause of wo ; 
His cup was varushed : for in secret guise, 
The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. 

As one who spies a serpent in his way, 
Glistening and basking in the summer ray, 
Disordered stops to shun the danger near, 
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear- 
So seemed the sire, when, far upon the road, 
The shining spoil his wily partner showed." 
The propriety of this simile, detached from the story to whicli 
it belongs, is not quite clear. From the porch they go — who go ? 
An old hermit and a young man, his companion, who are travel- 
ling on foot. The time is morning, and they have just left the 
hospitable mansion of a rich man to whom they were strangers, 
but in Tyhose house they had fared sumptuously the night before. 
Wine was presented to them in a valuable silver cup, which the 
younger, at his departure, stole, and soon aflqr showed to the 
hermit. The virtuous old man, struck with the dishonesty and 
ingratitude of the youth, regards him with the same horror which 
he would have felt at the sight of a venomous snake, suddenly- 
discovered in his path. The danger of being attended by a wick- 
ed companion, and the detestation felt by the good at a treach- 
erous action, are forcibly suggested by the image of the danger 
which any person would be in, and which all would regard with 
terror, at the sudden appearance of so frightful a reptile. 

A Meiaphur is an expression used as a simile ; but it substi- 
tutes one thing for another, and speaks of the illustration as being 
the thing compared with it : thus^ — God is the rock of ages, is a 
Metaphor. The meaning of this is, God is like a rock — a firm 
immoveable foundation for human trust in every age. We readi 
]y understand this species of comparison. Here is a fine meta- 
phor from the poetry of Thomas Moore : 

■H- ^ -^ ti i\ie fresh buoyant sense qfhcing 
That bounds in youth's yet careless breast, 
Itself a star not borrowing light 
But in its own glad essence bright." 

Metonymy is a figure in which one name is put for another, or 
account of some relation between the thing named, and that un- 
derstood : or some resemblance between the original implied • 

3* 



30 POETRY rOR SCU00L3> 

and the individual whose name is substituted for his : as, we ctii. 
a wise man, a Franklin, and a base one, a Catiline. Such a Me- 
tonymy as this, is a sort of comparison. When the na7ne of a 
place is used to convey the idea of its inhabitants, the expression 
is Metonymy : as when we say '' the resources of Britain are im- 
mense," we mean, the resources of the people of Britain. 

Cicero says — 

" To omit Greece, which always claimed the pre-eminence for 
eloquence ; and Athens, the inventress of all sciences, where the 
art of speaking was invented and perfected ; in this city of ours, 
no studies have prevailed more than that of eloquence." 

Here the words Greece and Athens stand to denote the inhab- 
itants of those places ; and it is this usage of the city or country 
for the inhabitants which forms the metonomy. 

A Synecdoche puts the whole for a part, or a part for the 
whole, as, 

" Thy growing virtues justified my cares, 
And promised comfort to my silver hairs.^'' 

Pope's Homer. 

The silver hairs signify the old age of the speaker. 

An Hyperbole is a figure that goes beyond the bounds of strict 
truth, and represents things as much greater, better, or worse, 
than they really are. 

Sir Walter Scott says of Ellen, in the Lady of the Lake : 

" E'en the light hare-bell lifts its head 
Elastic from her airy tread." 

This is Hyperbole. Ellen was lively and light, but her foot- 
prints must have broken the tender herb. However, we under- 
stand this to be poetic license, and admire the delicate illustra- 
tion of her slight tbrm and animated motion. 

Irony is common to poetry and prose — it is an expression of 
one idea, when we would convey the idea of its opposite ex- 
treme : thus, in common conversation, in order to ridicule his 
choice, we say, when we think a friend has preferred an inferior 
to a better thing '* 1 admire your taste.^' In Scott's Rokeby 
two assassins are described watching their intended victims. 
One of them approaches a young man whom he fears, and when 
he discovers who he is, suddenly withdraws ; upon this his com- 
panion laughs grimly^ and says, 

*' A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near." 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 31 

This is Irony. An expressive example of iroisy may be found 
ia Kings I. XVIII Chapter. But the whole passage must be 
read, that the irony may be obvious. 

The false prophets of Israel had taught the people the idola- 
tries of Syria, but Elijah, the prophet of God, was instructed to 
convince them of their folly. In compliance with the request of 
Elijah, Ahab, king of Israel, called together an assembly of the 
people, and of the prophets of Baal, their idol ; and Elijah pro- 
ceeded to expose their crime in the manner thus described : 

" So Ahab sent unto all the children of Israel, and gathered 
the prophets together unto mount Carnjel. And Elijah came 
unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two 
opmions? if the Lord be God, follow him : but if Baal, then 
follow him. And the people answered him not a word. Then 
said Elijah unto the people, I, even I only, remain a prophet of 
the Lord : but Baal's prophets are four hundred and fifty men. 
Let them therefore give us two bullocks ; and let them choose 
one bullock for themselves, and cut it in pieces, and lay it on 
wood, and put no fire under : and I will dress the other bullock, 
and lay it on wood, and put no fire under : and call ye on the 
name of your gods, and I will call on the name of the Lord : and 
the God that ansvvereth by fire, let him be God. And all the 
people answered and said. It is well spoken. 

" And Elijah said unto the prophets of Baal, Choose you one 
bullock for yourselves, and dress it first : for ye are many ; and 
call on the name of your gods, but put no fire under. And they 
took the bullock which was given them, and they dressed it, and 
called on the name of Baal from morning even until noon, say- 
ing, O Baal, hear us. But there was no voice, nor any that an» 
swered. And they leaped upon the altar which was made. And 
it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them, and said. Cry 
aloud : for he is a god ; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, 
or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be 
awaked. And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their 
manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon 
them. And it came to pass, when mid-day was past, and they 
prophesied until the time of the offering of the evening sacrifice, 
that there was neither voice, nor any to answer nor any that re- 
garded/' 

Interrogation is asking a question. When the interrogation 
is made in writing, or public speaking, and no reply is expected^ 
it is used to induce the hearer to reflect with attention, and an- 
swer to his own reason, if the speaker's argument be not just and 
forcible. 



1 J roETRY I»Or SCHOOLS. 

When Habakkuk, the Hebrew prophet, forewarns his country- 
men of God's vindictive justice, that is, his punishment of their 
sins, which had been revealed to him, and of which he speaks as 
if it were past, he says .* 

<'Was the Lord displeased against the rivers? 
Was thy wrath against the sca?^^ 

An obvious answer would be, No — God is not displeased with 
ihe rivers, nor angry against the sea ; but lie wounds the head of 
the wicked, and as a whirlwind, he scatters the nations that of- 
fend. 

Exclamation is little more than a cry — a sudden, broken ex- 
pression of surprise, pleasure, contempt, indignation, or pain. 
The Duke, in Shakspeare's Twelfth Night, relieving his melan- 
choly with music, exclaims : 

*' That strain again ! it had a dying fall ! 
Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breaths unon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odour." 

This example o^ exclamation from Shakspeare, expresses rap- 
lure — unexpected, lively delight. The next from Cicero ex- 
presses sorrow for his banishment, and pleasure at the idea of 
his honourable return to Rome : 

" Oh mournful day to the senate and all good men ! calami- 
tous to the senate, afflictive to me and my family ; but to poster- 
ity glorious, and worthy of admiration !" 

Pro Sexi. chap. 12. 

Thus the exclamation adapts itself to the passion which 
adopts it. 

Climax is the enumeration of many particulars in one period 
or whole sense, intended to produce one effect of persuasion or 
convictioa in the minds to which it is addressed. In climax or 
gradation the most important idea of the whole assemblage is the 
Itist mentioned. From the beginning to the end of the climax 
it is proper that each particular enumerated should rise in dignity 
of sense above the preceding. 

Mr. Walker in his Rhetorical Grammar gives an example of 
Climax fr»m the Spectator: 

*' Mr. Addison has a beautiful climax of circumstances arising 
one above another, when he is describing the treatment of Ne- 
groes in the West Indies, who sometimes, upon the death of their 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 33 

masters, or upon changing their service, hang themselves upon 
the next tree. 

* Who can forbear admiring their fidehty, though it expresses 
itself in so dreadful a manner? What might not that savage 
greatness of soul, which appears in these poor wretches on many- 
occasions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivated? and what co- 
lour of excuse can there be for the contempt with which we treat 
this part of our species? That we should not put them upon the 
common foot of humanity ; that we should only pet an insignifi- 
cant fine upon the man who murders them, nay, thai we should, 
as much as in us lies, cut them oflf from the prospects of happi- 
ness in another world as well as in this, and deny them that 
which we look upon as tne proper means tor attaining it?' " 

Here Mr. Addison first mentions the virtues of the poor negroes, 
and then contrasts the cruel treatment of white men with 
their deserts. This cruel treatment in fact is this : TVe — Mr. 
Addison meant the Europeans, but his remarks apply to some 
Americans of the present age — We, says he in effect, deny them 
to possess the understandings of men ; we consider them brute 
animals ; we do not punish their murderers ; and we not only 
deprive them of lihrrty and the sympathies that exist between 
man and man in this world, but we refuse to consider them as 
immortal beings, and withhold from them the knowledge neces- 
sary to their salvation. — It is very plain that the last articles of 
this passage — the immortal soul, and its final happiness in hea- 
ven — are considerations of greater magnitude, in regard to the 
negro character, the abuse it has suffered, and the redress that 
the author here claims for it, than any he had previously detailed. 

This example is not taken from poetry, but CJunax is a figure 
"which occurs in poetry. Anticlimax is often used as to denote 
a foolish representation of facts, which exaggerates the unim- 
portant, and gives the least regard to the more important par- 
ticulars under consideration. 

Apostrophe is an abrupt address to the absent. It sometimes 
partakes of the character of personification : as St. Paul, in holy 
rapture, exclaims, 

" Oh Grave ! where is thy victory ? Oh Death I where is thy 
sling ?" 

" This figure,'' says Walker, " is seldom used ; but when, in 
a violent commotion, the speaker turns himself on all sides, and 
appeals to the living and the dead, to angels and to men, to 
rocks, groves, and rivers, for the justice of his cause, or calls 
upon them to sympathise with his joy, grief, or resentment," 



J POETRY FOR FCHOOLS. 

The Minstrel, in Scott's Lay, breaks out, at the thought of hi;^ 
beloved country, into this apostrophe : 

*• O Caladonia, stern and wild, 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown hoath ;;nd shaggry wood, 

Land of the luountain and the flood, 

Land of my sires! what mortal hand 

Can e'er uniie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand !" 

Personification is the investing of qualities, or things inanimate 
with the character of persons, or the introducing of dead or ab- 
sent persons as if they were alive and present. This is at once 
one of the boldest and finest figures in rhetoric. Poets are pro- 
digal in their use of this figure. 

The following example of the figure of personification is from 
Milton's Comus. The poet personifies Virtue, Wisdom, and 
Contemplation : 

" Virtue could see to do what virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
Were m the flat ^ea sunk. And Wisdom's self 
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, 
Where with her best nurse. Contemplation, 
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, 
That in the various bustle of resort 
Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired." 

Cowper has personified Winter, as the 

" King of intimate delights, 

Fire-side enjoyments, homeborn happiness" — 

rxnd has introduced him in a very picturesque description : thus 

" O Winter, ruler of the inverted year, 

Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes fili'd, 

Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 

Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 

Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in cloudS; 

A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy' throne 

A sliding car. indebted to no wheels, 

But urged by storms along its slippery way, — 

I love thee, all unlovely as thou scem'stj 

And dreaded as thou art I'^ 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 35 

Allegory is a prolonged use of figures, so connected in sense 
as to form a parable or fable. Gray's Ode to Adversity is an al- 
''^gory. 

" ODE TO ADVERSITY. 

" Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
'1 hou tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 

The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain, 
The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple t} rants vainly groan ^ 

With pangs unlielt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, designed, 
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, 

And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore : 
What sorrow was, thou badest her know, . 
And from her own she learned to melt at others' \vo. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse ; and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain prosperity received. 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 

And Melancholy, silent maid. 

With leaden eye that loves the ground^ 

Still on thy solemn steps attend : 

Warm Charity, the general friendj 

With Justice, to herself severe, 
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear. 

Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, 

Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ! 

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 
Not circled with the vengeful band 



>b rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

(As by the impious thou art seen) 
W'.rh thundering voice, and threateningUiien; 
With screaming horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty : 

Thy form benign, oh Goddess ! wear, 

Thy milder mfluence impart, 
Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to vi^ound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love, and to forgive. 
Exact my own defects to scan. 
What others are to feel, and know myself a man." 

Mr. Gray has thus personified Misfortune or Adversity. He 
has represented her as the daughter of the supreme Deity ; but 
employed to " affright the bad, and afflict the best men" — 
*' Whom he loveth, he chasteneth," or purifieth, say the Hebrew- 
Scriptures. Perhaps this excellent poet had this passage in his 
mind when he wrote this stanza. *' Sweet are the uses of ad- 
versity," says Shakspeare-, and so has Gray represented them. — 
" By the sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better," 
says Solomon. Taught by our sufferings, we learn to pity others ; 
we abandon our follies, and gain leisure to be good. When we 
are in affliction, the sordid, and the frivolous, who shared the 
pleasures of our prosperity, forsake us ; but our virtues — wisdom, 
meditation, charity, justice, and pity, remam with us, and con- 
sole us. The poet, having asserted this, changes the form of his 
verses to apostrophe, and entreats the goddess, as he terms Ad- 
versity, to spare him from the severest inflictions of her hand, and 
to purify and exalt his heart. Young persons should commit 
these fine verses to memory. 

Antithesis is a figure by whicn words and ideas very different; 
or contrary, are placed together, in contrast or opposition, that 
they may mutually set off and illustrate each other. 

In Blair's Sermon on Gentleness the annexed example of Anti- 
thesis may be found : 

" As there is a worldly happiness which God perceives to be 
no more than disguised misery ; as there are worldly honours 
which in his estimation are reproach : so there is a worldly wis- 
dom which in his sight isfoolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the 
characters are given in the Scriptures, and placed in contrast wit! 
those of the wisdom which is from above. The one is the wisdoii 
of the crafty; the other that of the upright: the one terminates 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLa 



in selfishness; the other in charity: the one is full of strife and 
bitter envying s ; the other o^ mercy and of good fruits. ^^ 

The antithetical words of this passage are printed in italics— 
Happiness and misery, honour and reproach, icisdom and fool- 
ishness, are ideas in direct opposition — and the remaining anti- 
theses of the period are, it is presumed, quite as clear. 



The preceding definitions are not as full as might be, but they 
are simple, and necessary to be understood in order to read poe- 
try with good taste and satisfaction. There must be elementary 
books in common use, which give more critical and elaborate in- 
stances of the artificial structure of poetic diction. 



38 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 

Young persons at all instructed in modern history know, that 
the English language is formed from several more ancient langu- 
ages. The Romans carried the Latin into Britain half a century 
before the birth of Christ. About four hundred years after, the 
Saxons, a warlike people from Germany, succeeded the Romans 
as masters of England, and, with their dominion, introduced and 
established their speech. The language of England for several 
centuries was what is called the Anglo-Saxon, but this was super- 
seded, in great measure, by the Norman French. In 1066, Wil- 
liam, Duke of Normandy, in France, conquered England, and 
established his power in the country. He brought with him a 
multitude of followers whom he distributed over the kingdom, and 
caused the ministration of religion and the laws to be announced 
in the Norman French. This language gradually combined it- 
self with the previous dialect of England, and our English lan- 
guage, by slow degrees, has been drawn from these sources. 

The Anglo-Saxons were not wholly without literature ; they 
had wandermg minstrels who sung verses, and in their convents 
some of the priests composed in rhyme. The Normans brought 
to England their own poetry, which consisted chiefly of songs, 
satires, morality, and rhyming chronicles. But in the twelfth 
century, the Crusades, or religious wars, carried on by the Euro- 
peans in Palestine, furnished romantic adventures which the 
poets rehearsed in verse ; and at the same time, narrative poems 
from scripture, and classical subjects began to appear in England. 
In the thirteenth century it became customary for the minstrels to 
" sing devotional strains to the harp on Sundays, for the edifica- 
tion of the people, instead of the verses on gayer subjects which 
v/ere sung at public entertainments." 

The first original poem of any extent in the English language 
is ascribed to Robert Langlande, a priest. It describes the 
Christian life, and the abuses of religion under the authority of 
the Pope. It is to the honour of poetry that among the first ef- 
forts of her power over a partially civilized people she should 
fearlessly utter the dictates of trutli, unbouglit and undismayed 
by arbitrary princes, and selfish priests. " The mind," says Mr. 
Campbell, speaking of Langlande, " is struck with his rude voice, 
proclaiming independent and popular sentiments, from an age of 
slavery and superstition, and thundering a prediction in the ear 
of papacy j which was doomed to be literally fulfilled at the dis* 



j.\jj^±x*.i. JPUxv oo.^<jU1j5< 



39 



tance of nearly two hundred years. His allusions to contemporary 
life aflford some amusing glimpses of its manners." 

The earliest English poet whose remains are still preserved to 
popular readers is Geoffrey Chaucer. He died in 1400. It 
would not be suitable to the design of this little sketch to descant 
upon a poet whose works few young persons would have the pa- 
tience to read. But, with a little pains, matured readers may make 
the obsolete language of Chaucer intelligible. The very lively 
pictures which his writings afford of the manners and sentiments 
peculiar to his time, are interesting to those that love to look far 
back into the dim region of the past, and behold there, stars of 
mind which shine for ever and ever. 

During two centuries after the death of Chaucer, civil wars 
and religious persecutions silenced the muse in England. Some 
obscure names of this period attached to poetry may be drawn 
from oblivion by the antiquaries, but the poetical feeling and ge- 
nius of England are regarded by Mr. Campbell to have been at 
that time almost extinct. 

In the fifteenth century printing was introduced into Britain. 
The desire of knowledge is excited in the public mind by the 
means of obtaining it, and it would seem that Divine Providence 
has adjusted the productiveness of genius to the estimation in 
ivhich talent is held. Whenever the people become eager for in- 
struction or for entertainment. Wisdom is heard crying in the 
streets, and the sweet strains of Poetry seem to mingle in the 
common air that we breathe. In the sixteenth century the Scrip- 
tures were given freely to the people of England, learning was 
cultivated, and poetry revived ; and as society was improved, ge- 
nius was developed and honoured. Of this influence of society 
upon poetic genius, Mr. Campbell says : 

" Poets may be indebted to the learning and philosophy of 
their age, without being themselves men of erudition or philoso- 
phers. When the fine spirit of truth has gone abroad, it passes 
insensibly from mind to mind, independent of its direct trans- 
missions from books ; and it comes home in a more welcome 
shape to the poet, when caught from his social intercourse with 
his species, than from solitary study." 

Lord Surrey lived in the reign of Henry VIII, and was the 
inventor of blank verse. In the reign of queen Elizabeth, and 
of her successor, James I, lived Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, and 
Spenser. Spenser, the author of the Faery Queen, is now very 
much praised, and very little read. His subject is partly allegor- 
-calf and partly in representation ofpersons of his own age ; and 



40 POETRY FOR SCU00Z3. 

on account of this confusion and obscurity in his poetry, it may 
be, that Spenser is more studied by poets than by general read- 
ers. Jonson is hardly more popular, but "every body's Shaks- 
peare" now in universal estimation, wears, and will wear in the 
eyes of all posterity, his laurels fresh and green as ever. Shaks- 
peare's appearance as a dramatist can be traced back to 1589, 
and the Faery Queen was published in 1590. 

English Poetry comprehends the Drama. — Mysteries, Moral- 
ities, and Interludes, are names of the dramatic representations : 
known in Enorland previous to Shakspeare's time. The ]\I\ste- 
ries were religious shows exhibited to the people under the sanc- 
tion of the ministers of religion. The Resurrection of Lazarus, 
and the Sepulture of our Lord, were among these representations. 
They were in fashion in Eno-land during four hundred years, and 
went out of vogue in the middle of the sixteenth century. Surely, 
in the community of the English language^ not only taste but piety 
has made great advances since the time that such subjects were 
acceptable under the form of public amusements. 

The Moralists dramatized moral subj cts, and sometimes rep- 
resented discoveries in science. An Interlude on the nature of 
the four elements, and The Tracts of America lately discovered, 
and the manners of the natives, is recorded among the last ot 
these entertainments. 

Greek and Latin tragedies were translated into English as early 
as 1566. During the last twenty years of the sixteenth century, 
play-writers by profession became common, but their names and 
works have now, for the most part, become insignificant. Ben 
Jonson's plays exhibit much learning and wit — they are still read, 
but are not exhibited upon the stage. Among his works are 
specimens of that poetic and tasteful drama, the Masque. Mil- 
ton's Comus ; is a masque and Percy's Masque, by Mr. HillhousCj 
which was written about 1820 in America, is a masque. 

Poeiic translation commenced in England about 1560. The 
poetry of Virgil, Ovid, and soon afterwards of Homer, was trans- 
lated into English verse near this time. Dr Johnson commen- 
ces his Lives of the Poets with the life of Cowley, and classes 
him with Donne, Waller, and some other poets who had lived 
during the preceding century : these were the metaphysical poets. 
Their works exist in old books, but they are only known to curi- 
ous readers. 

Shakspeare stands at the head of English poets, and next in 
eminence is the divine Milton : Milton died in 1674, at the age 
jf £2. In his early life Milton felt that he was born for posterity 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 41 

and all time, and in the consciousness of his endowments his elevat- 
ed mind was little disturbed by the neglect of his contemporaries. 
For almost a century after the publication of his minor works, they 
iVere little known : and Paradise Lost, which appeared in print in 
1 669, after its author had become Wind to externa! things, attracted 

f lii e admiration which it has since called forth. 
Among British poets next to Milton in the order of time, 
comes Dryden. Gray describes Milton and Dryden in these 
lines : 

* * * "He, that rode sublime 

Upon the seraph wings of Ecstacy, 

The secrets of th' Abyss to spy. 

He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place andTime, 

The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze. 

Where Angels tremble while they gaze, 

He saw ; but, blasted with excess of hght. 

Closed his eyes in endless night.— 

Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 

Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 

Two coursers of etherial race, 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 
Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 

Bright-eyed Fancy^ hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." 
Dryden's plays and poems are not much read, though Alexan- 
der's Feast still retains its popularity, and almost every school- 
boy can repeat it. Dryden died in 1690. 

Pope died in 1744. For a whole century Mr. Pope was per- 
haps the most popular of English poets ; and though his moral 
and religious sentiments were censured by the rigidly righteous, 
still they passed into the principles and common talk of most 
readers. " As Pope says," is a phrase which is often prefixed 
in conversation to a multitude of pointed remarks which are found 
in Mr. Pope's writings, and that are readily applied by almost 
every mind to the practical wisdom of daily life. 

<* Whate'er by nature is in worth denied 

She gives in large recruits of needful pride.'' 

Trust not thyself — thy own defects to knov7 
Make use of every friend, and every foe." 

*' True wit is nature to advantage dressed — 
That oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed. 



'JrS TOETRY FtR SCHOOLS. 

***Tis not a lip, or eye, we beautv call, 

But the joint force and fuH result of aZZ." 

'' Man, like the generous vine, supported, lives — 

The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives.' 

" Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, 

Lie in three worcis, Health, Peace, and Competence." 

Such are a Cew of those couplets which are become almost 
common-place, but which express important principles with ad- 
mirable simplicity and plainness. 

The force and independence of Mr. Pope's sentiments, the pu- 
rity of motive upon which his principles are Ibundf d and to which 
they tend ; the delightful harmony of his versification ; and some- 
times, the beauty of his descriptions, have made him the almost 
universal favorite that he is among Enghsh readers. Within a 
few years a controversy has been carried on amonw some distin- 
guished poets and critics, concerning the pre-eminence of Pope 
as a poet. But the argument is not interesting to young readers; 
however, those who feel any veneration for the author of that 
beautiful version of the Lord's prayer — " Father of All," &.c. — 
will be pleased to know, that among those who exalted the fame 
of that eminent person were the late Lord Byron, and Thomas 
Campbell. 

Among the contemporaries of Pope were several poets much 
in fashion during their lives, and of whose works some are yet 
popular. Of these Addison, Swift, Gray, and Parnell deserve 
to be mentioned. The respective characters of these writers, 
and their works, may be learned from sources more ample than 
this brief notice of Enghsh poetry and poets. 

After the death of Pope — Thomson, Collins. Slienslone, Aken- 
side. Gray, and Goldsmith, were much and deservedly admired as 
English poets. Goldsmith, the last in the order in which thoy 
are mentioned, died in 1774 ; but the genius of each, differing, 
as they do, from one another in glory, is "essentially immortal," 
still exerts its sweet influence, and gathers increase of honours 
from successive years. 

Cowper died in 1800. His poetry is in every house. It is 
without spot or blemish — inspired by the genius of Christianity — 
full of humanity and piety — tender and holy as the writer's heart, 
and beautiful as the rural sights and sounds which delighted his 
pure nature. Since Cowper — Rogers, Waltef Scott, Southey, 
Crabbe, Campbell, Byron, Moore, and Wordsworth, have ap- 
peared in the world. Collectively tkey have produced a vast i»' 



rOEfRY FOR SCHOOLS. Ao 

crease of wealth in the treasury of our intellectual riches. Mr, 
Rogers is moral and sentimental. The others are peculiarly 
original, and the inventive talent of each is employed upon ma- 
terials furnished principally by the varieties of human passions and 
manners as they have existed in different ages and countries. 

The mexhaustible storehouse of history, or the observation of 
local character, has supphed subjects to these admirable minds 
which are in unison with general sympathies ; and in no period 
since the existence of our language has such extended homage 
been paid to \lvmg poets, as in the present century. The legends 
of Scotland are made familiar and inexpressibly interesting, all 
over the world, by the minstrelsy of Scolt — the valleys of America 
.ore brought out. of obscurity by the genius of Campbell — tho 
" gorgeous east" ghtters in the pictured pages of Moore.— 
" Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 

Isles that crown the Egean deep, 

Fields that cool lllysus laves," 

have again breathed their inspiration, and the British name of 
Byron is now associated with the birth place of all the muses. 
The talent of Southey has celebrated the chivalry of Spain ; and 
the rural life of England, in all its forms of good and evil, has been 
recorded for ever by the masterly hands of Crabbe and Words- 
worth. 

Nothing like criticism upon the several works of these authorSj 
can be useful to young readers. Read first, judge afterwards. 
All that is contained in this volume, is collected to inspire love for 
the pursuit of literature, and to make it agreeable by making it 
intelligible. Young persons are here introduced to a community 
of the most venerable and gifted minds that ever lived, and they 
are invited to assimilate their moral nature, by purity of heart and 
of thought, to this goodly fellowship ; — and to the repositories of 
their heavenly fancies, repairing " as to their fountain," thence 
to draw light that shall not grow dim with age, but shine brighter 
and brighter to the perfect day of thoir intellectual progress. 

Various changes that the language has undergone are exhibit- 
ed by English poetry. Our language has not always been writ- 
ten as it now is. English grammars and dictionaries were not in 
general use till the latter half of the last century ; before that 
time, however, good English writers nearly agreed in their ortho- 
graphy and grammatical construction, and from their practice, in 
respect to orthography and grammar, our rules are principally 
taken. Here are four specimens of English poetry, written at 
diifeient times.. The first is from Chaucer :— 



'M POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



*' Emilie, that fayrer was to senc 



Then is the lilie upon his stalk grene. 
And fresher than the May with floures newc, 
(For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, 
I n'ot which was the finer of hem two.) 
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do, 
She was arisen, and all redy dight : 
For May wol have no slogardie a-night. 
The season priketh every gentil herte. 
And maketh him 'out of his sleep to stertc, 
And say^h, arise, and do thin observance." 

Chaucer's Knigkte\s Tale, verses 1037 — 1048. 

If a school boy should alter these verses after bis own habits, 
and preserve the words as nearly as possible, he would write thorn 
thus : 

" Emilie, that fairer was to see 



Than is the lily upon his stalk green, 
And fresher than the May with flowers new, 
(For with the rose colour strove her hue, 
I know not which was finer of them two.) 
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do. 
She was arisen, and already drest : 
For May will have no sluggishness of night. 
The season pricketh every gentle heart. 
And maketh him out of his sleep to start, 
And saith, ari^e, and do thine observance." 

Spenser published the Faery Queene in 1570— one hundred 
md seventy years after Chaucer died. The following description 
of a fine lady's ornaments and equipage is taken from the Faery 
Queene : 

" Hee had a faire companion of his way, 
A goodly lady clad in scarlet red, 
Purfled with gold and pearle of rich essay ; 
And like a Persian mitre on her head 
She wore with crowns and ovvches garnished ; 
The which her lavish lovers to her gave. 
The wanton palfrey all vpay overspread 
With tinsel trappings woven like a warve, 
Whose bridle hung with golden bells and bosses brave." 
Fairy Queene, Canto II. verse 13. 

This is not so simple a description, not fo easy to be under- 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^ 

itood nor does it present so beautiful an image, as that of the 
sweet' Emilie— rising with the dawn, and going forth among the 
flowers in Mav,— « herself the fairest flower," as the poet Milton 
afterwards said of Kve m Paradise. Chaucer's lady is ovely m 
herself, but Spenser^s goodlv fair one is thought much less ot 
than the splendour with which she is attired and muunted. A 
fine woman dressed in a robe of scarlet, adorned with pearls and 
aold richly wrought wearing a splendid crown, and governing a 
noble horse, hunself covered with cloth of silver, and reined with 
a glittering and tinkling bridle, may be looked at for a moment 
with pleasure, but not for the same length of time or with he 
same satisfaction as she must be regarded, whose beauty is the 
expression of gracefulness, modesty, and kindness. 

The next specimen shows the progress of our language, antl 
teaches the very lesson that a moral comparison between the pre- 
ceding one^ may do. It was written but a few years after that ot 
Spenser. The aithor, Ben Johnson, died 1C16. 

*' Give me a look, give me a face 
That make simplicity a grace. 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
Than all the adulteries of art, — 
They strike my eyes and not my heart." 

The following specimen, written in 1821, is like the orthogra^ 
phy of that whrch preceded it two hundred years : 

<« 'lis eve, the soft, the purple hour, 
The dew is glistening on the bower ; 
The lily droops its silver head. 
The violet slumbers on its bed ; 
Heavy with sleep the leaflets close, 
Veiling thy bloom, enchanting rose, 
Still gazing on the western ray 
The last sweet worshipper of day."— Cro?y. 

English poetry is not confined to the British dominions-'Our 
western world has produce.! poets whose memory wilt be prooi: 
'* 'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity"— whose verses embel- 
lish these pages, and whose talents we should cherish with scnU 
ments of pride and pleasure. 



4G rOETR¥ FOR SCHOOLS. 



EDMUND SPENSER. 



Spenser is the earliest English poet whose writings afford any 
specimens suitable to this collection English History furnishes 
an interesting and useful subject of study to the young scholar, 
if it afford him just views of English mind If history describes 
those only who have conquered certain armies, who have devas- 
tated countries, or who have built towns and forts, it informs us 
of little that is useful and improving. But it is delightful to learn 
from history that wise men have arisen in a nation after long 
periods of general ignorance — delightful to read the works which 
during centuries have made one generation of men after another, 
wiser and better, — delightful to turn from the barbarous triumphs 
of mad ambition and physical force to the dominion of intellect, 
and to enrich the understanding by the talent of others, who have 
refined and exalted society ever since they came into being. 

Queen Elizabeth succeeded to the throne of Britain in 155C. 
Elizabeth was attached to the Protestant faith, made it the na- 
tional religion, cultivated learning herself, and cherished genius 
in others. Shakspeare lived in her reign, and paid homage to 
this maiden queen. He styles lier, " a fair star, throned in the 
west ;" and makes one, speaking of her infancy, say, 



" Sheba was never 

More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue. 
Than this pure soul shall be- 



Truth shall nurse her ; 
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her." 

" In the reign of Elizabeth," say Campbell, "the English m*«« 
put forth its energies in every direction, exalted by a purer reli- 
gion, and enlarged by new views of truth. This was an age of 
loyalty, adventure, and generous emulation. The chivalrous 
character was softened by intellectual pursuits, while the genius 
of chivalry itself still hngered, as if unwilling to depart, and paid 
his last homage to a warlike and female reign. A degree of 
romantic fancy remained in the manners and superstitions of the 
people ; and allegory might be said to parade the streets in their 
public pageants and festivals. Quaint and pedantic as those al- 
legorical exhibitions might often be, they were nevertheless more 
expressive of erudition, ingenuity, and moral meaning, than they 
had been in former times. 

The philosophy of the highest minds still partook of a vision- 
ary character. A poetical spirit infused itself into the practical 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 47 

heroism of the age ; and some of the worthies of that period 
seem less like ordinary men, than like beings called forth out of 
fiction, and arrayed in the brightness of her dreams. They had 
* High thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy.' The life of Sir 
Philip Sidney was poetry put into action." 

Three very memorable individuals adorned the age of Eliza- 
beth, Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, and Sir Walter Raleigh. The 
latter two are more properly subjects of verse than poets, though 
their verses are found in collections of English poetry, but Spen- 
ser stands without a rival in his own style of poetic invention. 

Spenser was born in London about the middle of the sixteenth 
century. After leaving the university of Cambridge where he 
was educated, he passed some time in a state of rustic obscurity 
in the North of England, but there his mind was furnished with 
those natural images that abound in his works. He was after- 
wards introduced to Sir PhiHp Sidney, and once resided with him 
at Penshurst in Kent. By the influence of Sidney, Spencer pro- 
cured the place of Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 
and subsequently, a grant from the Queen, of land in that countryj 
in which he remained for several years. 

** Spenser's residence at Kilcolman, an ancicHt castle of the 
earls Desmond, commanded a view of above half the breadth of 
Ireland, and must have been a most romantic and pleasant situ- 
ation. The river Mulla which Spenser has so often celebrated, 
ran through his grounds. In this retreat he was visited by Sir 
Walter Raleigh, at that time a captain in the Queen's army. His 
visit occasioned the resolution of Spenser to prepare the first 
books of the Faery Queen for immediate publication. Spenser 
has commemorated this interview, and the inspiring influence of 
Raleigh's praise, under the figurative description of two shep- 
herds tuning their pipes, beneath the alders of the Mulla; — a fic- 
tion with which the mind, perhaps, will be much less satisfied, 
than by recalHpg the scene as it really existed. 

When we conceive of Spenser reciting his compositions to Ra- 
leigh, in a scene so beautifully appropriate, the mind casts a 
pleasing retrospect over that influence which the enterprize of the 
discoverer of Virginia, and the genius of the author of the Faery 
Queen, have respectively produced on the fortune and language 
of England. The fancy might even be pardoned for a momenta- 
ry superstition, that the Genius of their country hovered unseen 
over their meeting, casting her first look of regard on the poet, 
that was destined to inspire her future Milton, and the other on 
the maritime hero, who paved the way for colonizing distant re- 



AS rOETRV FOR scnooLS. 

gions of the earth, where the language of Enjjland was to be 
spoken, and the poetry of Spenser to be admired/' 

In 1597, a rebelhon against the British government broke out 
in Ireland, and occasioned the precipitate flijjht of >penser with 
his family to England. He died at London, January, 1699, He 
was buried, accordi^ig to iiis own desire, near the tomb of Chau- 
cer ; and the most celebrated poets of the time (Shakspeare was 
probably of the number) followed his hearse, and threw tributary 
verses into his grave. 

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 

Sir Philip Sidney was the must celebrated man of his age. — 
The question immediately occurs — for what ? — " Traits of cha- 
racter will distinguish great men independent of their pens or 
their swords," remarks Mr. Campbell, ' The contemporaries 
of Sidney knew the man : and foreigners, no less than his own 
countrymen, seem to have felt, from his personal influence and 
conversation, an homage for him, that could only be paid to a 
commanding intellect guiding the principles of a noble heart." 

He spent part of his short life in the court of Queen Elizabeth-, 
and another very brilliant portion of it in military service and 
another very brilliant portion of it in military service upon the 
continent. As a courtier, a scholar, and a soldier, he command- 
ed the admiration of Europe, and all England wore mourning at 
his death. This event happened in 1580. when he was only 32 
years of age. His writings are obsolete, but we sometimes hear 
of Sir Phillip Sidney's Arcadia. This is an incomplete romance 
which he left. Miss Lucy Aikin says of the Arcadia, that "fer- 
vour of eloquence," "nice discrimination of character," and "pu- 
rity of thought," " stamp it for the offspring of a noble mind." 

" His death," continues Miss Aikin, " was worthy of the best 
parts of his hfe : he showed himself to the last devout, courageous, 
and serene. His wife, the beautiful daughter of Walsingham ; 
his brother Robert, to whom he had performed the part 
rather of an anxious and indulgent parent than of a brother ; 
and many sorrowing friends, surrounded his bed. Their grief 
was, beyond a doubt, sincere and poignant, as well as that of 
the many persons of letters and of worth who gloried in his friend- 
ship, and flourished by his bountiful patronage." 

Such a man's name and example should still serve to kindle 
in the bosom of youth the animating giow of virtuous emulation. 
Lord Thurlow, a late Lord Chancellor of England, wrote a pret- 
ty Bonaet on Sidney's pictuje. 



rOBTBY FOR SCHOOLS. 49 

^* The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, 

Beholding there love's truest majesty, 
And the soft image of departed grace, 

Shall fill his mind with magnanimity : 
There may he read unfeigned humility, 

And golden pity, born of heavenly brood, 
Unsullied thoughts of immortality, 

And musing virtue, prodigal of blood : 
Yes in this map of what is fair and good. 

This glorious index of a lieavenly book ; 
Not seldom, as in youthful years he stood, 

Divinest Spencer would admiring look ; 
And, framing thence high wit and pure desire, 
Imagined deeds, that set the world on fire 1 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 

Sir Walter Raleigh was born at Hayes Farm in Devonshire, 
1552, and was beheaded in London, 1618. He is memorable 
or his understanding, his knowledge, and his enterprising spirit. 
During the reign of Elizabeth, Raleigh performed many honora- 
ble services in the British navy, and fitted out, and some- 
times accompanied, ships of discovery which explored the 
coasts of North and South America. After the accession of 
James H, Elizabeth's successor, Raleigh was indicted and tried 
for treason, upon the charge of attempting to place Lady Ara- 
bella Stuart upon the throne of England ; and though he was not 
condemned, he suffered fifteen years of imprisonment. When 
Raleigh was liberated, he obtained a commission from the King, 
and commanded an expedition against Guiana, in South America. 
In this enterprise he was unsuccessful, though he committed 
some depredations upon the Spaniards who were in possession of 
the country. On his return to England he was tried upon the 
former accusation, and sentenced to death. The sentence was 
immediately executed, and a life of singular vicissitudes, in which 
the prosperity was adorned by eminent accomplishments, and the 
adversity sustained by admirable fortitude, was thus cruelly ter- 
minated. 



50 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

UNA AND THE REDCROSS KNIGHT. 

" The heavenly Una and her railk-white amb." — Wordsworth 

" A gentle knight wns pricking* on the plain, 
Ycladt in mighty arms and silver shield, 
Wherein olil dints of deep wounds did remain. 
The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
Yet arms till that time did he never wield ; 
His angry steed did ciiide his foaming bit. 
As much disdaining to the curb to jield : 
Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, 

As one for knightly joustsj and fierce encounters fit. 

But on his breast a bloody cross he bore. 
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 
And dead (as living) ever him adored : 
Upon his shield the like was also scored. § 
For sovereign hope, which in his help he had : 
Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; 
But of his ciieer did seem too solemn sad : 
Yet nothing did he dread ; but ever was ydrad.l! 

Upon a great adventure he was bound, 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 
That greatest glorious queen of fairy lend, 
To win him worship, and her grace to have, 
Which of all earthly things he most did crave , 
And ever as he rode his heart did yearn 
To prove his puissance in battle brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; 
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern. 

A lovely lady rode him fair beside. 
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; 
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide 
Under a veil, that wimpledli was full low. 
And over all a black stole*^ she did throw, 
As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad. 
And heavy sat upon her palfry slow ; 
Seemed in heart seme hidden care she had, 
And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led. 

■■ Riding. t Attired. t Contests of skill at arms. 

^ Engraved. |l Dreaded. If Prawn closely. 

** Robe. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^l 

So pure an innocent, as that same lamb, 
She was in life and every virtuous lore, 
And by descent from royal lineage came 
Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore 
Their sceptres stretcht from ^* to western shore. 
And all the world in their subjection held ; 
Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar 
Forewasted all their land and them expelled : 
Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compelled. 

Behind her far away a dwarf did lag-, 
That lazy seemed in being ever last, 
Or wearied with bearing of her bag 
Of needments at his back. Thus as they past 
The day with clouds was sudden overcast, 
And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain 
Did pour into his leman's lap so fast. 
That every wight to shroud it did constrain. 
And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. 

Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand, 
A shady grove not far away they spied, 
That promised aid the tempest to withstand ; 
Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, 
Did spread so broad, they heaven's light did hide, 
Not pierceable with power of any star : 
And all within were paths and alleys wide, 
With footing worn, und leading inward far : 
Fair harbour, that them seems ; so in they entred are^ 

x\nd forth they pass, with pleasure forward led. 
Joying to hear the bird's sweet harmony. 
Which therein shrouded from the tempest's dread. 
Seemed in their song to scorn the crud sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight and higli. 
The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall. 
The vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry. 
The bailder Oak, sole king of forests all, 
The Aspin good for staves, the Cypress funeral, 

The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors 
And poets sage, the Fir that weepeth still, 
The Willow, worn of forlorn paramours, 
The Yew, obedient to the bender's will, 



POETRY FOR ?CH00L3. 

The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill, 

The Myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound, 

The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill, 

The fruitful Olive, and the Plantain round, 

The carver Holme, the Ma[)le seldom inward sound : 

Led with delight they thus beguile the way, 
Until the blustering storm is overblown, 
AVhen, weenmg'^ to return, whence ihey did stray, 
They cannot tind that path which first was shown, 
But wander to and fro in ways unknown, 
Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween, 
That makes them doubt thtvir wits be not their own ; 
So many paths, so many turnings seen, 
That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been. 

Spenser. 



These verses are easily comprehended. Every young person 
should know something of Chivalry. That institution had once 
great influence upon the manners and happiness of Europe. The 
situation of Una, and the nature of her protector's character and 
office, will not be understood without some acquaintance with 
the meaning of chivalry. 



CniVALRY. 



The origin of Chivalry was briefly this: — France, Spain, En- 
gland, Germany, Italy and Holland, once belonged to the Ro- 
man Empire ; but armies from the North of Europe invaded 
these more southern countries, overthrew the Roman power, and 
at different times took possession of the places they conquered. 
"When they had made themselves masters of a country, J he great 
leaders of the armies took large tracts of land ; and their follow- 
ers, that is the soldiers they commanded, together with such of 
the original inhabitants of the countries as they permitted to live, 
became the vassals of these great men. 

These poor people were not acquainted with the useful arts or 
comforts of hfe which we enjoy, but they could take care of cat- 
tle, cultivate the soil in a rude and imperfect manner, could help 
to erect the castle and church of their master, and could follow 
Uim to battle. This latter service, togetlier with a great part of 

* ••resuming. 



FOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. bJ 

the cattle and corn which they could procure from the cultivationt 
of the soil, they gave to their lords. The lords always kep 
many of their vassals in their houses or castles, and usually wen^ 
out with a considerable number of them as attendants. This was 
partly for show, and partly for safety. These followers were 
called Retainers, and when they went abroad with their master 
formed his Retinue. The more people a great lord had about 
his person, the better was he guarded, and the more was he 
feared. 

In the present happier age of the world, when every man has 
his own business, and property, and leisure, and enjoyments, no 
great man has any right t© the services of so many of his fellow- 
men ; nor has he any need of them, for he has nothing to fear 
from the violence of others — 'le is protecied by the laws of his 
country, and what is better, by the humanity of all men, who* 
have learned in some measure, to respect one another's lives and 
property, and to know, in order that all may be happy, all must 
be safe, and protected by each other. 

But a thousand years ago men lived very differently. The 
lands which had been seized by the great lords of Europe, were 
not exactly bounded, each proprietor or landholder did not pre- 
cisely know how much belonged to himself: so that the owners 
of property which lay together often claimed the same ; and as 
there were not courts of justice to inquire into and settle their 
rights, they and their vassals fought about them. Many of the 
richer and more powerful lords, wanting to become still more 
rich and powerful, and having no sense of religion, of justice, or 
mercy — none of the fear of God or love of man — murdered their 
aieighbours, set fire to their houses, carried off their property, 
and claimed their lands : on these occasions the ladies were ofteri 
treated in a barbarous manner. 

A remarkable instance of this may be found in Shakspear's 
Tragedy of Macbeth. Macbeth, a Scottish nobleman, invited 
Duncan, king of Scotland, to his castle, and there murdered him^ 
that he might be king instead of Duncan. On the murder of the 
5cing, his two sons fled from Scotland in fear of their lives. Mac- 
duff, a Scottish lord, followed Malcolm, one of the young princes, 
into England ; upon which the usurper Macbeth was so enraged, 
that he vowed to revenge himself upon Macduff for feis desertion. 
In order to do this, Macbeth resolved upon killing Macduff's in^ 
Jiocent family, which he had left behind, and he accordingly gave 
orders for this cruel act. When the bloody work was done, 
Rosse* a friend of the unfortunate family, escaped into Englant^ 

5* 



54 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

to inform Macduff of it. He found him talking to Malcolm, and 
after preparing his mind, relates the event. 

*' liosse. Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes Sa- 
vagely slaughtered ! 

Malcolm. Merciful heaven ! 

Macduff. My children too ? 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence !— 
My wife kill'd too ? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Mai Let us make medicine of our great revenge, 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children ! — All my pretty ones ? — 
Did you say all ? 

Rosse. All. 

Macd. What, all my pretty chickens and their dam ?" 

Macbeth, Act IV. Scene 3. 

You will observe that Malcolm proposes to make amends for 
this cruel injury by some " great revenge," that is, by some act 
of equal cruelty to the murderers of Macduff's wife and children. 
This was the way in which people ai that time usually endeavour- 
ed to satisfy themselves, but they only continued a strife which 
the descendants of both parties felt bound never to forget nor 
forgive, and which, many long years after the first offence was 
given, caused fresh quarrels, murders, and destruction of pro- 
perty. 

In this stat$ of violence and danger, many people lived in con- 
stant and great fear, and were always prepared to expect, and to 
defend themselves against an enemy. The rich lived in strong 
castles, surrounded by. walls and gates, a watch was kept to look 
out for the approach of their foes, and, before the discovery of 
gunpowder and the use of firearms, the knights — that is, the gen- 
tlemen soldiers — used generally to wear armour. 

Then, as at all times, there were good men — some who w^re 
not weak and timid, or ferocious and cruel, who could not see 
the acts of these barbarians without indignation against them, and 
compassion for the unfortunate victims of their cruelty. The 
distress or the ladies, above all, inspired the just and the generous 
with a desire to serve them, and to save them from the dreadful 
calamities to which they were exposed. Many noblemen and 
brave soldiers devoted themselves to the redress of injuries inflict- 
ed upon all good persons, and particularly upon the young and 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^ 

the beautiful of the female sex. These formed what is called the 

''' TL^'younrme^ who composed the order of Chivalry could not 
be admitted into it unless they possessed strength and courage, 
and were distinguished by truth and honour ; and this bemg known, 
made ambitious youth desirous to be so distinguished, that they 
mioht be worthy to assert justice, and to defend mnocence ; that 
the'v might become objects of admiration and praise and form at 
once the protectors and ornaments of society. To be all this, it 
was necessary that they should not only be fearless and powerful, 
but that they should also be pleasing and interesting : that they 
should perfectly understand the use of a^ms to prevail over their 
enemies, and be masters of every graceful accomplishment to in- 
spire the affection of their friends. Many arts of little use at that 
time were then necessary, and tbese arts exhibited much grace and 
skill The management of fiery horses, the throwing of the pike, 
(a sharp instrument use^ in ancient warfare,) and the exercise ot 
the bow, were taught to young men with as much, and more 
pains, than dancing, fencing, and music now require. Horse- 
manship, archery, &c. require great presence of mind and 
strength of body, and show elegance of person and quickness ot 
ofthought to the utmost advantage. , , .. 

For along time Chivalry did much good, but at length it went 
out of use, because laws were made and enforced that compelled 
people to live peaceably together, so that the arts that belonged 
to Chivalry only served for amusement, and Knights or Cham- 
pions used to practise a sort of mock fighting, as a mere trial ot 
strength and skill, not intending to kill one another, but to spare 
the hfe of him who should be proved the weakest; and the most 
beautiful lady present at the encounter., used to give a prize to 
the victorious knight. These public spectacles were at last given 
up but not all at once, for so iate as the year 1600, and after- 
wards, we read of young gentlemen who were taught all the ex- 
ercises of Chivalry. 

' These remarks do not refer exclusively to the preceding extract 
from Spenser, but thev also serve to explain other pieces m this 
collection. The distressed condition of Una exemphfies the suf- 
ferings to which the young and beautiful wer« exposed m a rude 
age, and the devotedness of her attendant is a further illustration 
of the sentiments and services of a disinterested knight-errant m 
Ijehalf of endangered innocence. 



oG ?OBTRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

THE FABLE OP THE OAK AND THE BRIAK. 

" There grew an agect tree on the green, . 
A goodly Oak sometimes had it been, 
With arms full strong and largely displayed, 
But of their leaves they were disarrayed : 
The body big and mightily pight, 
Throughly rooted, and of wondrous height j 
Whilom* had been the king of the field, 
And mochel mastj to the husband did yield, 
And with his nuts larded many swine, 
But now the gray moss marred his rine, 
His bared boughs were beaten with storms, 
His top was bald, and wasted with worms, 
His honour decayed, his braunchessere.J 

Hard by his side grew a bragging Breere, 
Which proudly thrust into th' element, 
And seemed to threat the firmament : 
It was imbellisht with blossoms fair, 
And thereto age wonted to repair ; 
The shepherd's daughters to gather flowres^ 
To paint their garlands with his colowres ; 
And in his small bushes used to shroud, 
The sweet nightingale sirjging so loud, 
W^hich made this foohsh Breere wax so bold,. 
That on a time he cast him to scold, 
And sneb the good Oak, for he was old. 
Why stand'st there (quoth he) thou brutish block '^ 
Nor for fruit nor for shadow servts thy stock ; 
Seest how fresh my flowres been spread, 
Died in lily white and crimson red. 
With leaves engrained in lusty green, 
Colours meet to cloath a maiden queen ? 
Thy waste bigness but cumbers the ground, 
And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round * 
Tht mouldy moss, which thee accloyeth, 
My cinnamon smell too much annoyeth : 
Wherefore soon I rede§ thee hence remove, 
Lest thou the price of my displeasure prove. 
So spake this bold Breere with great disdain, 
Little him answered the Oak again, 
But yielded, with shame and griefadawed.il 
That of a weed he was ovei-craw'd.U 

* rormerly. t Many acorns. t Dry. i Advigc. Ij Dejeclf* 
If Triumphed over. 



rOETKY FOR SCHOOLS. *^* 

It chaunced after upon a day, 
The husband-man's self to come that way, 
Of custom to surview his ground, 
And his trees of state in compass round: 
Him when the spightful Breere had espyed^ 
He causeless complained, and loudly cried 
Unto his lord, stirrm^ up stern strife : 

O my liege Lord ! the god of my hfe,. 
Please you pond* your suppliant's plamt, 
Caused of wrong and cruel constraint, 
Which I your poor vassal daily endure ; 
And but your goodness the same recurc, 
Am like for desperate dolej to die, 
Through felonous force of mine enemy. 
Greatly aghast with this piteous plea, 
Him rested the good man on the lea. 
And bad the Breere in his plaint proceed. 
With painted words then gan this proud weed 
(As most used ambitious folk) 
His coloured crime with crait to cloke. 

Ah, my Sovereign 1 lord of creatures all, 
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall. 
Was not I planted of thine own hand. 
To be the primrose of all thy land, 
With flowring blossoms to furnish the prime, 
And scarlet berries in sommer-time ? 
How falls it then that this faded Oak, 
Whose body is sere, whose branches broke, 
Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire, 
Unto such tyranny doth aspire,. 
Hindring with his shade my h^vely light, 
And robbing me of the sweet sun's sight ? 
So beat his old boughs my tender side. 
That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wide ; 
Untimely my flowers forced to fall, 
That been the honour of your coronal ;| 
And oft he lets his canker-worms light 
Upon my branches, to work me more spight; 
And of his hoary locks doth cast. 
Wherewith my fresh flowerets been defast : 
For this, and many more such outrage, 
Craving your godlyhead to assuage 
. « Consider, t Grief. I Wreath of flowers, chapl-t. 



5* POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The rancorous rigour of his might ; 

Nought ask I, but onely to hold my right, 

Submitting mc to your good sufierance, 

And praying to be guarded from grievauncc. 

To this Oak cast him to reply 

Well as he couth ; but his enemy 

Had kindled such coles of displeasure, 

That the good man nouldj stay his leisure, 

But home him hasted with furious heat, 

increasing his wrath many a threat ; 

His harmful hatchet he hent| in hand, 

(Alas ! that it so ready should stand !) 

And to the field alone he speedeth, 

(Aye little help to harm there needeth) 

Anger nould let him speak to the tree, 

Enaunter his rage mought cooled be, 

But to the root bent his sturdy stroke, 

And made many wounds in the waste Oak. 

The axe's edge did oft turn again, 

As half unwilling to cut the grain, 

Seemed the senseless iron did fear, 

Or to wrong holy eld did forbear ; 

For it had been an antient tree, 

Sacred with many a mystery, 

And often crost with the priests's crew, 

And often hallowed with holy-water dew ; 

But like fancies weren foolery. 

And brough ton this Oak to this misery ; 

For nought might they quitten him from decay, 

«For fiercely the good man at him did lay. 

The block oft groaned under his blow. 

And sighed to see his near overthrow. 

In fine, the steel liad pierced his pith, 

Then down to the ground he fell forthwith. 

His wondrous weight niatio the ground to quake. 

Th' earth sunk under him, and seem'd to shake 

There lieth the Oak pitied of none. 

Now stands the Breere like a lord alone, 
Puff'd up With pride and vain pleasance ; 
But all this glee bad no conlmuance : 
For eft3oons§ winter 'gan to approach, 

t Would not. t Took ! $Not long after. 



POBTKY FOR SCHOOLS. f>9 



The blustering Boreas did encroach, 
And beat upon this solitary Breere, 
For now no succour was seen him neere. 
Now 'gan he repent his pride too late, 
For naked left and disconsolate, 
The biting frost nipt his stalk dead, 
The watry wet weighed down his head, 
And heaped snow burdened him so sore, 
That now upright he can stand no more ; 
And being down is trod in the durt 
Of cattel, and brouzed, and sorely hurt. 
Such was th' end of this ambitious Breere, 

For scorning eld " 

Spenser. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A BUST OP SHAKSPEAEK. 

O youths and virgins : O declining old : 
Oh pale misfortune's slaves : O ye who dwell 
Unknown with humble quiet : ye who wait 
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings : 
O sons of sport and pleasure : O thou wretch 
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds 
Of conscious guilt, or Death's rapacious hand 
Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam 
In exile ; ye who through the embattled field 
Seek bright renown, or who for nobler palms 
Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; 
Approach : behold this marble, know ye not 
The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue 
Told you the fashion of your own estate, 
The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round 
His monument, with reverence while you stand, 
Say to each other, " This was Shakspeare's form 
Who walked in every path of human life ; 
Felt every passion, and to all mankind 
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield 
Which only his own genius could acquire.'* 

Akenside. 



00 rOETUY FOR SCHOOLS. 

SlIAKSPEAKE. 

"I speak this truth, thou art of poets, king.'' — Thurlow. 

This dramatic poet 16 justly estetmed by those who speak the 
Enghsh lanpnage, as the moat interesting writer in the world. 
There are f^w so highly endowed as to he able to comprehend the 
wealth and magnitude of Shakspeare' genius in all its variety and 
comprehensiveness, but there are none perha'^js within even the 
remotest influences of Knglish literature, that have not felt the 
power of this mighty master in some of those numerous passages 
of his works whicli have j)asse<i into t'le popular mind. The best 
furnished and most profound intellects meet with congenial 
thoughts in Shaksii. are ; and all human experience, from the 
monarch's to the labourer's lot, is recorded and expressed by his 
immortal muse so that every mind i' ay find its own feelings and. 
circumstances somewhere illustrated by his inspiration. 

From the accounts vvhich are preserved of Shakspeare's early 
life it appears that be had W-w advantages of direct instruction, 
thoucfh the knowledge contained in books popular at that time in 
England, lent him its little light ; and the talent " that Nature 
did him give," supplied in him every defect of human learning, 
and enabled him to leave an inheritance ot" thought to future ages, 
which nothing but the dissolution of" the great globe itself" can 
annihilate. Dryden says of him,-" He *vas a man who, of all 
modern and, pherhaps, ancient poets, had the largest and most 
comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were still present 
to him, and he drew them not labc/riously, but luckily When 
he describes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. He 
needed not the spectacles of books to read nature ; he looked 
inwards and found her there." But, 



•' Tis wonderful, 



That an invisible instinct should frame him 
To poetry unlearned ; hon<jur untaught ; 
Civility not seen in other ; knowledge 
That wildly grew m him, yet yielded crops 
As though it had been sown. 

Shakspeare was born at Stratford upon Avon in Warwickshire, 
1564. The documents of his life are very imperfect. Rowe, 
the poet, published a memoir of him a century after his death 
From this it appears that Shakspeare removed himself to London, 
and that he was an actor as well as a writer of plays. Shaks^ 
pcare however returned to Stratford, purchased a house there, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 6' 1 

and died in that town. In the church of Stratford, a monument 
to his memory still remains. — The following inscription on this 
monument is engraved beneath a bust of Shakspeare : 

♦* Stay, passenger, why goest thou so fast ? 
Read, if thou can'st whom envious death has placed 
Within this monument — Shakspeare : with whom 
Quick nature died ; whose name doth deck this tomb 
Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ 
Leaves living art, but art to serve his wit. 

Obit A. D. 1616— iEtatis 53. die 23 April." 

Shakspeare's thirty-five plays were first collected and publish- 
ed in 1623, in folio. The title page of this folio was embellished 
by an engraving, which was said to be a likeness of the author, 
and attached to it were these lines by Ben Jonson, addressed to 
the reader : 

<' 1 his figure that thou seest here put, 

It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, 

Wherein the graver had a strife 

With nature to outdo the life : 

O, could he but have drawn his wit 

As well in brass, as he hath hit 

His face ; the print would then surpass 

All that was ever writ in brass. 

But since he cannot — reader, look 

Not on his picture, but his book." 

From 1709, when Rowe published Shakspeare's plays, to the 
present time, (1830,) they have been often published, and arc 
disseminated throughout the reading world of our language ; and 
the more they are studied, the more are they admired and enjoy- 
ed. The fine arts have derived important aid from Shakspeare, 
The stage has been exalted, literature has been illustrated and 
adorned by him, his scenes have been delineated an infinite num« 
ber of times by the pencil, and they embellish almost every house 
and every library. 

Every fine poet since Shakspeare's time has paid homage to the 
commanding genius of this great man. 

Milton's Sonnet to Shakspeare is among the most interesting 
tributes to his memory : 

" What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured bones 
The labour of an age in piUd stones, 

6 



: rOETRT? FOR SCHOOLS. 

Or that hig hallowed reliques should be hid 

Under a star-y-pointing pyramid ? 

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame 

What need'st thou such weak witnew of thy name ? 

Thou in our wonder and astonishment 

Hast buili thyself a live-long monument. 

For whilst to the shame of slow endeavouring art 

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 

Hath from tlie leaves of thy unvalued book 

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; 

Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving. 

Dost make us marble witti too much conceiving ; 

And so sepulchered, in such pomp dost lie, 

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die." 



English, Roman, and Grecian History, furnish part of the sub- 
jects of Shakspeare's plays ; and some of his plots are taken from 
Itahan romances that had been translated into English ; but upon 
what foundation soever he built, the superstructure is perfectly 
original and eminently beautiful. 

'•Though Shakspeare^s poetry is the delight and pride of all 
who speak our language, it is in general too abstruse and difficult 
for foreigners and young persons. 

It exhibits the most lively pictures of external nature, and the 
most prefect representations of human passions. But his 
language is frequently obscure, from its containing many words 
and phrases which are now out of common use ; besides, his writ- 
ings relate so much to the passions of men, and the concerns of 
princes and politicians, that a person must have what is called a 
knowledge of the world, and must have had some experience of 
the effects of human passions, before he can perceive the beau- 
ties, or have a relish for the excellencies of Shakspeare." Parts 
of King John, and of Henry IV. are in some measure free from 
these difficulties ; tnd are selected for the purpose of introducing 
the style and manner of Shakspeare to young readers. 

Shakspeare wrote dramatic pieces upon the history of England ; 
they are now called plays, though formerly they were called his- 
tories ; each of them takes in several jears ; and they carry the 
imagination of the spectator from England to France, and back 
again, many times in the space of one night. King .John is one 
of these dramas. 



ffOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 63 

KING JOHN. 

John, surnanied Sans Terre, or Lackland, was the fourth son of 
Henry II. King of England. John succeeded to the throne upon 
tho death of his brother, Richard I. Arthur, Duke of Brittany, 
was the son of Geoffrey, John's elder brother ; and, according 
to the laws of England, was the legal successor of his uncle Rich- 
ard. The unfortunate Arthur, it is supposed, was murdered by 
the command of John, but the manner of his death is unknown. — 
Philip, King of France, was Arthur's maternal uncle, and public- 
ly accused John of murdering his nephew ; but John declared 
that Arthur fell from the walls of a castle where he was confined, 
intoari^er which floived beneath, and thus lost his life. Shaks- 
peare has made a most affecting scene of John's cruelty to the 
poor youth. That and the subsequent passages from Shaks- 
peare's play of King John which complete Arthur's history, fol- 
low in this place. 

KING JOHN, ACT IV. SCENE I. 

Hubert, the assassin, employed to put out the young princess 
eyes. Arthur, and attendants. Scene, a room in the Castle^ 
Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair ; be heedful : hence, and watch. 
1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — 

[Exeunt Attendants- 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me ! 
Methinks, no body should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as nights 
Only for wantonness. By my christendomj 
So I weie out of prison, and kept sheep, 



^•i POETRY FOR SCHOOLff. 

I should be as merry as the clay is long ; 

And so I would be here, but that I doubt 

My uncle practises more harm to me : 

lie is afraid of me, and I of him : 

Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son ? 

No, indeed, isH not : And I would to heaven, 

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick : 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Huh. Ilis words do take possession of my bosom. — 
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing thepaper.] How 

now, foohsh rheum ! [Aside- 

Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 

Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your 2icad did but ache., 
1 knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; 
Saying. What lack you ? and, where lies your grief ? 
Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love. 
And call it cunning ; Do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 
Why, then you must.— Will you put out mine eyes . 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
So much as frown on you ? 



i>ot;tby for schools. 

Huh. I have sworn to do it ; 
And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it 1 
The iron of itself, though heat red hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. 
And quench his fiery indignation, 
f^ven in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
But for containing fire to harm mme eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than liammered iron 1 
An if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me, Hubert should put out mme eyes, 
I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. Do, as 1 bid you do [Stamps. 

Re-enter Attendants, with cord^ irons, &c. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubei:t, save me ! my eyes are out. 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the irun, I say, and bmd him here. 

Arth. Alas, what ner^d you be so boist'rous rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ', 
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiot as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor v ince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the iron angetly : 
Thrust but these men awas, and I'll forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do pui me to. 

Hicb. Go, stand withm ; let me alone with him. 

1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [£a*e 

Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend j 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :— 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven !~that there were but a mote in yours^ 
A grain, adust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense 1 
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Huh. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 

4* 



«^ 



QSr rOETRV FOR FClIOOtS. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arih. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief 
Being create for comfort, to be used 
In undeserved extremes : See else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight, 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong. 
Deny their oflice : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fieice fire, and iron, extends, 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyct 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this whik 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
Your uncle must not know but )'our are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me ; 
Much danger do 1 undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. I hope you act in 
this bloody business, by some higher authority than your own cru- 
elty or selfishness. It is necessary that poor men, in the seryio^ 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. D' 

of arbilrar? princes, should act their wicked wills. If you do 
as you are commanded, you are not so guilty as if you devised ot 
your own heart such horrible deeds; but if you do this without 
some such justification— dread the punishment due to your cru- 
elty. All this is implied in this passage. 

Heat— Heated is the modern participle. *' The participle 
heat, though now obsolete, was in use in our author's time. So 
in the sacred writings : ' He commanded that they should heat 
the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heat. 
Dan. Ill 19:' 

Tarre. — To stimulate, to set on. 

SCENE III. Arthur on the castle wall. 
Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : 
(Jood ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not !-— 
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
ff I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
ril find a thousand shifts to get away : 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. 
Oh me 1 my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! 

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigod, 

Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty 
The earth hath not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done. 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or when he doomed this beauty to a grave, 
Found it too precious princely for a grave. 

Sal Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beucld-. 
Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? 
Or do you almost think, although you see, 
That you do see ? could thought, without this object. 
Form such another ? This is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
Of murder's aims : this is the bloodiest shame> 
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke. 
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 



G8 roETRy for schools. 

Pern. All murd'^rs past do stand excused in this. — 
It is a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
We had a kind of light, what would ensue, 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
The practice, and the purpose, of tue k«ng :— * 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin ofsweel life, 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a vou\ a holy vow / 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight. 
Nor conversant with case and idleness^ 
Till I have set a glory to this hand. 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Fern. Big. Our souls reiigiousiy confirm thy words. 

Revenge, to a certain extent, is the love of justice. It ha& 
been shown, in the brief sketch which was given of the origin 
and principal object of Chivalry, that its pur[»ose was not only to 
defend innocence, but to punish those who should injure the 
weak and unprotected. The knights of that age, not only made 
a vow to serve God, and the interests of humanity, when they 
were initiated, but, on setting out upor. a special enterprise, they 
solemnly devoted themselves to the work before them. — In con- 
formity to this practice, Salisbury kneels beside the dead body of 
Arthur, and vo.vs never to take pleasure or rest till he has punish- 
ed the wretches who wrought his deuth. 

HENRY IV. 

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, siirnamed Bolingbroke, was son of 
John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward III., 
king of England. Richard II. was the predecessor of Henry 
IV. Richard was the rightful king, but he had no talent for go- 
vernment, and during his reign all England was in a state of con- 
fusion and civil warfare. In consequence of his mis-government^ 
Richard was deposed and thrown into prison. He was a son oi 
Edward, called from the black armour which he wore, the Blacfc 
Prince. The Black Prince was the eldest son of Edward III., 
the duke of Clarence was his second son, and John of Gaunt the 



POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 69 

third. When Richard was deposed, a descendant of the duke of 
Clarence, Mortimer, duke of York, was the legal successor to 
the throne, but Henry Bolingbroke set aside Mortimer's claim, 
and caused himself to be crowned King. Henry IV. died March 
1413, in the 14th year of his reign. 

At the age of twenty-five Henry V. succeeded his father. Du- 
ring his short reign of nine years he exhibited such qualities as 
are much admired in a rude age. He possessed great personal 
courage, a spirit of military enterprise, talent for command, and 
patient perseverance in the accomplishment of iiis purposes. Ac- 
cording to history, his deportment was singularly graceful and 
dignified, and his power of self-government even more extraor- 
dinary than his control of other men. 

Shakspeare, in the last act of Henry IV. has given a very 
touching scene — it is the closing one of the king's life, in which 
lie gives his latest counsel to the Prince of Wales. The king 
being ill, has his crown displaced from his head, and falls asleep. 
At this moment the prince enters the apartment of his father, 
and perceiving his condition, tenderly laments it, but removes 
the crown, and swears to maintain his right to it. The king 
awakes, eagerly demands who has taken away the crown, and 
seeing prince Henry, requests to be left alone with him, and they 
then conler together thus : 

Hekey IV. and Peikce Henry:. 

K. Hen, Come hither to me. Harry. 

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 

K, Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : 
1 stay too long by thee, 1 weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger lor mv empty chair, 
That thou wilt needs invrst thee with mine honours 
Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
Thou seek'st the greatness that wilf overwhelm thee> 
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind. 
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some (gw hours. 
Were thine witnout offence ; and, at my death, 
Thou hast sealed up my expectation : 
Thy life did manifest, thou lovMst me not, 
And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 

Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thought^J ; 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 



U POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To Stab at half an hour of my life. 

What ! can'st thou not forbear me half an hour ! 

Then get tliec gone ; and tiig mv grave thyself; 

And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear. 

That thou art crowned, not that 1 am dead. 

Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, 

Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 

Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 

Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. 

Pluck down my officers, break n»y decrees ; 
For now the time is come to mock at form, 
Harry the fifth is crowned : — U[», vanity ! 
Down, royal state ! all you aa^e counsellors, hence 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness! 
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : 
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? 
Be happy, he will trouble \ou no more : 
Englaiid shall double gild his treble guilt ; 
England shall give him office, honour, might : 
For the fifth Harry from curbed licence plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
Shall flesh his tooth in every inn:ic*^nt. 

my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
What wilt thou do, when not la thy care ? 

O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. 
Peopled with wolves, thy old iniiabirants ! 

P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears, 
The moist impediments unto my speech, [Kneeling. 

1 had forestalled this dear and depp rebuke, 
Ere you with grief had sp. ke, and I had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown nnmortally, 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, 
Than as your honour, and as your renown. 
Let me no more from this obedience r'se, 
(Which my most true and inward-'luteous spirit 
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! 
Heaven witness with me, when 1 here came in. 
And found no course of breath within your majesty. 



POETBY FOB SCHOOLS. 

How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 

O, let me in my present wildness die ; 

And never live to show th' incredulous world 

The noble change that I have purposed J 

Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 

(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 

I spake unto the crown, as having sense. 

And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending^ 

Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 

Therefore^ thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 

And thou, most fine ^ most honoured, most renowned. 

Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, 

Accusing it, I put it on n)y head ; 

To try with it, — as with an enemy, 

That had before my face murdered my father,- 

The quarrel of a true inheritor. 

But if it did infect my blood with joy, 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 

If ari^ rebel or vain spirit of mine 

Did, with the least affection of a welcome. 

Give entertainment to the might of it, 

Let €rod forever keep it from my head ! 

And make me as the poorest vassal is, 

That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! 

K. Hen. O my son ! 
Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence. 
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. 
Pleading so widely in excuse of it. 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
And hear, T think, the very latest counsel 
That ever T shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. 
By what by-paths, and indirect, crooked ways, 
I met this crown ; and I myself know v.^ell5 
How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
To thee it shall descend with better quiet. 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 
With me into the earth. It seemed in me, 
But as an honour snatched with boist'rous hand 5 
And I had many living, to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. 

What in me was purchased^ 
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort j 



*J2 POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 

So thou the garland wear'st successively. 

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. 

Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 

And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends 

Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 

By whose fell workmg I was first advanced, 

And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 

To be again displaced : which to avoid, 

I cut them off; and had a purpose now 

To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 

Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 

Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 

With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out. 

May waste the memory of the former days. 

More would 1 but my lungs are wasted so. 

That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 

How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 

And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
Then plain, and right, must tny possession be : 
Which I, with more than with a common pain. 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 



HENRY V. 

The nohle change that he nad purposed, as he bound his brow? 
with the crown of his dying father, was exemplified in Prince 
Henry when he became King of England. One circumstance of 
his public conduct, which is finely exhibited by Shakspeare, is il- 
lustrative of his respect for the constitution and laws of his king- 
dom, and as an example of his disinterestedness and veneration 
for justice, does honour to his memory 

" Henry the Fifth, when Prince of Wales, was wild, and in the 
disgraceful society of Sir John Falstaff, Poins, and other idlers, 
committed several offences against the laws. Some of his attend- 
ants had been taken up by the officers of justice, for a riot, and 
were brought before the chief justice. Sir William Gascoigne. 
While they were in court, prince Henry came, and rudely de- 
manded that they should be released. The chief justice refused. 
TJie prince insulted, and, it is supposed, even struck the judge. 
The chief justice ^>ith great dignity kept his seat upon the bencb^ 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 73 

and in the authoritative tone of a rnan, to whom the execution of 
the laws is intrusted, rebuked the prince, and ordered him to be 
taken into custody. To this the prmce, recollectmg hia duty, 
becomingly submitted.*' 

It is related by an old historian that Prince Henry, being or- 
dered to prison, " doing reverence" to the judge, departed, and 
went to the Kmg's bench, as he was commanded. One of his 
attendants, displeased at this indignity, (as he deemed it,) offered 
to the prince, and thinking to incense the King against the chief 
justice, repaired to his majesty with the whole affair. The King-^ 
on hearing the circumstance, paused for a moment, and then^ 
lifting his eyes and clasped hands to Heaven, exclaimed, "Omer- 
ciful God ! how much above all other men, am I indebted to 
thine infinite goodness ; especially that thou has given me a 
judge who feareth not to minister justice, and also a son who can 
suffer worthily and obey justice." 

" After the death of his father, when Henry became king, the 
nation expected he would give himself up to amusement and in- 
temperance ; but on the contrary, he immediately assumed the 
deportment and conduct of a wise monarch, and, dismissing from 
his presence his former companions, instead of disgracing the 
chief justice who had committed him, he thanked him for the 
firmness and dignity with which he had executed the laws, and 
conferred great favours upon him ." 

King Henry, the Princes his brothers, and the Chief Justicjs:. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your majesty ! 

King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. — 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear ; 
This is the English, not the Turkish court. 

. good brothers — be assured, 

I'll be your father and your brother too ; 

Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 

P. John and the others. We hope no other from your ma^ 
jesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me : — and you most ; 
You are, I think, assured I love you not. 

Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly, 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 

King. No ! 
How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
So great indignities you laid upon me 



74 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
Th' immediate heir of England ? Was this easy ? 
May this be washed m Letlie, and forgotten ? 

Ch. Just. 1 then did use the person of your father : 
The image of his power lay then in me : 
And, in th' administration of his law, 
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
The majesty and power of law and justice, 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seal of judgment : 
Whereon, as ao offender to your father, 
J gave bold way to my authority, 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
Ee you contented, wearing now the garland, 
To have a son set your decrees at nought ; 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; 
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your person ; 
Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, 
And mock your workmgs in a second body. 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours : 
Be now the father, and propose a son ; 
Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. 
Behold yourselfso by a son disdained ; 
And then imagine me taking your part, 
And, in your power, soft silencmg your son : 
After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And as you are a king, speak in your state, 
AVhat 1 have done, th:U misbecame my }/lacc. 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 

King. You arc right, justice, and you weigh this well 
Therefore, still bear the balance, and the sword : 
And T do wisii your honours may increase, 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 
Oflend you, and obey you, as I did. 
Ho shall I live to speak my father's words ;— 
Happy am /, that have a man so hold., 
That dares do justice on my proper son : 
And not less happy having such a son. 
That would deliver up his grtatness so 
Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me < 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Jjj 

For which, I do commit into your hand 
Th' unstain'd sword that you have used to bear ; 
With this remembrance, — That you use the same 
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, 
That you have done 'gainst me. 

There is my hand ; 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear : 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 
To your well-practised, wise directions. 
And, princes all, believe me. I beseech you ; 
My father's gone into his grave, and in 
His tomb lie all my wild affections ; 
And with his spirit sadly I survive. 
To mock the expectation of the world ; 
To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. 

The tide of" blood in me 
Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now : 
JVow doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament: 
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, 
That the great body of our state may go 
in equal rank with the best governed nation ; > 

That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
As things acquainted and familiar to us ; — 
In which you, father, shall have foreujost hand. 

[ To the Lord Chief Justice. 



This is the English, not the Turkish court. — Brothers, why 
should you fear me ? — You are not in the despotic country of 
Turkey, where a monarch, through fear that his brothers should 
kill him, in order that one of them may usurp the throne, to se- 
cure his own life takes theirs. You are in Britain, where our 
knowledge and laws make me your protector ; and the institutions 
we live under induce me to trust as well as to defend you. 

Mr. Edgeworth, in Poetry Explained, has rendered the reply 
to the King into the following prose ; — When the King asks, Was 
thisee^y ? Can it he easily forgotten ? the judge's remonstrance 



*iC POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 

signifies, '' I then represented the person of your fatlier (who Is 
supposed to be present in this court of justice ;) his power was 
then in me, and whilst I was administering the laws, and busy for 
the common-weal (for the common good,) your highness forgot 
my office — forgot the power and majesty of the laws and of jus- 
tice — you forgot your father, v.hom T represented, and struck me 
on the bench of justice ; whereupon I boldly exerted my author- 
ity, and sent you to prison. 

" If you think this wrong, you must be contented when, now 
you wear the garland, (the crown,) to have jour son set your de- 
crees at nought, to have him pull down the authority of your judg- 
ment-seat, to trip and slop the current course of law, and to take 
off the edge and power of the sword of justice, which guards the 
peace aud safety of your person ; nay more, you must submit to 
have your son affront your own royal image, represented and act- 
ing in the person of your judge, whom you substitute in your 
place. 

••' Question your royal thoughts ; make the case your own ; 
suppose yourself a father, and that you had a son ; suppose you 
heard your dignity scorned, and that you saw your laws disdamed ; 
then imagine me taking your part, and by your power, inherent 
in me, silencing your son. After having brought these images 
hefore your mind, and after cool consideration, pass sentence 
upon me ; and as you are a king, speak, not as a private person, 
but in the dignity of your public capacity, and declare what 1 
have done unbecoming of my office, my person, or your sover- 
eignty.'' 

Your highness. — Highness is now a title of honour or respect, 
addressed in the sons and daughters of the kirig ; formerly it was 
used in addressing the king or queen." 

*' The Garland. — Shakspeare, in two or three places, calls the 
crown the garland." 

'* Liege's sovereignty. — Liege properly means a person to 
fvhom a certain duty or obedience is owmg. Formtrly, after the 
conquest of England by William the Conqueror, when the land of 
the kingdom was divided amongst his followers, or vassals, in the 
same manner that lands were usually divided upon the continent, 
every man, instead of paying rent m money for the land which he 
held, was bound to supply the person from whom he held it, with 
a certain number of armed men, on horseback, or on foot. The 
person to whom he owed this service, was called his liege lord. 
Persons who were themselves princes, frequently had litge lords 
over them ; in particular, the emperor pf Germany had a great 



rOFTTBY FOR SCHOOlrS. TY 

siumb^rof princes and dukes for his vassals, who were all bound 
lohim as their liege lord." 

Therefore still bear the balance and the sword — The chief jus« 
tice of the king's bench has neither a balance (a pair of scales,) 
nor a sword, carried before him ; but the allegorical figure of Jus- 
tice is represented in painting and statuary by a female figure blind- 
fold, to show that Justice should not respect the persons of people ; 
with a balance in her left band, to denote that she weighs carefully 
beforeshe determines ; and with a sword in her right hand, to de* 
note that Justice can punish offenders with the sword of the law. 
The Roman magistrates had axes surrounded with rods, carried 
before them, as emblems of punishment ; the rods to punish small- 
er offences, the axe to punish greater crimes with death Though 
the judges have not swords carried before them, yet the king of 
England, who is the head of the law, and who is represented by the 
chief justice of the king's bench, has the sword of state carried be- 
fore him on days of ceremony. 

'' 'And, princes all, believe me. I beseech you ; 
My father's gone mto his grave ; and in 
His tomb lie all mv wild affections, 

* And, princes, believe me, my father has carried my wildness 
and youthful follies into his grave with him, foi all my former af- 
fections or propensities lie there ; and his sedate spirit hves in me, 
to disappoint the expectation which the world has of my being a 
a dissipated monarch, and to contradict prophesies and opinions 
which were formed from my former conduct.' " 

According to the old histories of Britain, about seventy years 
before the birth of our saviour, a prince named Lud reigned over 
the southern part of the island. Lud was murdered, and his broth- 
er Cassibelan excluded his sons from the throne, and usurped the 
sovereign power. In the ninth year of the r^ign of Cassibelan, 
Juhus Caesar, the Roman general, invaded Britain, and Tenan- 
tius, the younger son of Lud, aided him. When Cassibelan died, 
Tenantius was restored to his inheritance and agreed to pay tribute 
to the Romans. 

Cassibelan had not been so submissive, for when Caesar sent to 
Mm a messenger, demanding that he should contess himself sub- 
ject to Rome ; should pay homage, or acknowledge the authori- 
ty of the Roman government over himself and his dominions; 
and, moreover, should pay tribute to Rome, Cassibelan refused, 
paying thatj '♦ The ambition of the RoAians was insatiable, who 

7* 



^^ POETRY FOR SCHOOIS. 

i^ouldnot suffer Britain, to them Knew world, placed by nature 
in the ocean and beyond the bounds of thtir empire, to lie unmo- 
lested." 

Cymbeline, the son of Tenantius succeeded his father. In his 
youth Cymbeline was sent to Rome to be educated, was caress- 
ed by Augustus, and called the/mndofthe Roman people. The 
Romans liked to have hereditary princes, of partially conquered 
countries, come to their capital and dwell with them, that the 
former might learn their language and laws, and respect their 
power ; and, when they should return to their own dominions, 
make their subjects feel that it was desirable to submit to the con- 
querors. The Romans did not always act thus, for in the first 
periods of their conquests they treated captive princes with ex- 
Creme indignity. 

Shakspeare, represents that Cymbeline refused to pay tribute 
to Rome, but a commentator thinks this was not the fact, but that 
'Tenantius might have refused to pay tribute. Whatever was the 
truth, Shakspeare imputes this refractoriness to Cymbehne. In 
4he play, or History of Cymbeline, Belarius, a British lord, is sup- 
posed by Cymbeline to connive with the Romans against himself, 
and, as a punishment, he banished Belarius from his court. 

Belarius, being unjustly accused by his sovereign, took ven- 
geance upon him by carrying off two young princes, his sons, and 
keeping them in a cave till they had grown to be men. At that 
time the princes became tired of their lonely life in the woods, 
and thus remonstrated with Belarius. 

SCENE a Forest with a Cave, in Wales. 
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. A goodly day ! not to keep house, with such 
Whose roof's as low as ours : see, boys ! this gate 
instructs you how t'adore the heav'ns ; and bows you 
To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs 
Are arched so high, that giants may jet through 
And keep their impioui turbans on, without 
Good-morrow to tho sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n ! 

Guid- Hail, heaven! 

Arv. Hail, heaven ! 

Bel. Now for our mountain sport, up to yon hili 
Your legs are young : 

= Oh, this life 

^s. nobler than attending for a check ; 



POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. VO 

Hicher, than doing nothing for a bauble ; 
Prouder, than rusthng in unpaid-for silk : 
No life to ours. 

Guid. Out of your proof you speak ; we, poor, unfledged 
Have never winged from view o'th' nest ; nor know, 
What air's from home Haply, this life is best, 
If quiet life is best ; sweeter to you. 
That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
With your stiff age ; but unto us, it is 
A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed; 
A prison, for a debtor that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of. 
When we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December ? how, 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing - 
We're beastly ; subtle as the fox for prey. 
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : 
Our valour is to chase what flies ; our cage 
We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird, 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 
Did you but know the city's usuries, 
And felt them knowingly ; the art o'th' court, 
As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb; 
Is certain falling ; or so slippery, that 
The fear's as bad as falling ; the toil of war : 
A pain, that only seems to seek out danger 
I'th' name of fame and honour ; 
And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph, 
As record of fair act ; nay many time. 
Doth ill deserve, by doing well : what's worse, 

Must curtesy at the censure : Oh, boys, this storj 

The world may read in me : my body's marked 

With Roman swords ; and my report was once 

First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me ; 

And when a soldier was the theme, my name 

Was not far oflf : then was I as a tree , 

Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night, 

A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, 

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves ; 

And I«ft me bare to weather. 



QQ POETBY FOR SCUOOLg. 

Guid. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel My fault being notiiirjg, as I have told youofl 
But that two villains (whose false oaths prevailed 
Before my perfect honour) swore to CymbelinCy 
I was confederate with the Romans : so 
Followed my banisljment ; and, these twenty years, 
This rock and these demesnes have been my world ; 
Where I have lived at honest freedom ; 
But, up to th' mountains 
This is not hunters' language ; he, that strikes 
The venison first, shall be the Lord o'th' feast ; 
To him the other two shall minister, 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of greater state : 
Pll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt Guid. and Arvir. 

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little, they are sons to th' King ; 
Nor Cymbeline dreams, that they are alive. 
They think, they're mine ; tho' trained up thus meinly 
I'th' cave, there, on the brow, their thoughts do hit 
The roof of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
In simple and low things, to prince it, much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore 
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britaine. whom 
The King his father ailed Guiderius) Jove! 
When on my three-foot-stool I sit, and tell 
The warlike feats Fve done, his spirits fly out 
Into my story : say, " thus mine enemy fell, 

" And thus I set my foot upon his neck'' even then 

The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats. 
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
That acts my words — 

The younger brother CadwaU, 
(Once, Arviragus) in as like a figure 
Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more 
Ilis own conceiving. — Hark, the game is rouzed.— 
Oh Cymbeline ! heaven and my conscience know, 
Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, 
At three and two years old, I stole these babes ; 
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
Thou reft'st me of mj lands. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse ; they take thee for their mothet. 
And every day do honour to thy grave ; 



TOtT'RV FOR SCHOOLS. SI 

Myself BelariuSy that am Morgan called, 

They take for natural father. The ganie*s up. [Exit, 

this gate. 

Instructs you how to adore the heavens. &c. 
This humble habitation of ours teaches our hearts humility. 
The palaces of princes encourage their pride, but as we roust bow 
our heads to pass out of this low cave, so we are reminded to 
prostrate ourselves before the majesty of Heaven. 

Oh this life 

Is nobler y &c. 
Inexperienced youths, in this safe retreat, you know not the fol- 
lies and vices of mankind. No life is so desirable as ours, for its 
innocence, peace, and security. 

Out of your 'proof you speak, &c. 

You know, for you have lived in the world, what it is — good 
or bad — but we, unhappily, have received no such information. 
When we shall become as old as you, how deplorably unfurnish- 
ed with all knowledge will our minds be — what shall we know 
to discourse opon ? 

How you speak y &c. 

Did you but know the vices of men who inhabit cities ; the 
arts practised in king's houses ; the needless and cruel toil of 
war ; the slanders which sometimes follow the best men and the 
best conduct ; and the submissions which must be made to un- 
just censurers, you would not desire to abandon your present con- 
dition for one where so much may be suffered. 



It may be interesting to the young reader to be told that at 
ihe conclusion of this drama, the princes were restored to their 
father, the integrity of Belarius was vindicated, and he was re 
ceived into favor by Cymbeline. 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



MILTO^'. 

'' Thy soul was like a star and ducltapari : 

Th(»u hadst a voice whose sound was like the sca, 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on life's common way, 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 

Tlie lowliest duties on herself did lay." — Wordsworth. 

Milton, who is riglitly classed among the most exalted of Brit- 
ish poets, was the son of a gentlemai. in the middle rank of soci- 
ety, but the m .ral dignity of his character would have done hon- 
our to any station. For abjuring the Roman Catholic, and pro- 
fessing the Protestant faith, the elder Milton was disinherited by 
his father, and compelled to make his way in the world by indus- 
try and integrity only ; b»it his ability in business secured to him a 
competent estate, and the happy turn of his mind rendered a mod- 
erate fortune sufficient From the childhood of the poet, his 
father discerned his extraordinary endowments, and trained him 
with suitable care and skill. Milton was at first educated by a 
private tutor, then sent to a public school in London, and, at a 
proper age, was entered ut t 'e university of Cambridge. After 
his collegiate studies were finished, he spent a few years in a de- 
lightful rural retirement at Horton in Buckinghamshire, and at the 
age of thirty repaired to the continent of Europe. All the influ- 
ences of domestic culture, of self-application, and of foreign trav- 
el, tended to give the highest finish to the character of a man on 
whom nature had bestowed the most beautiful countenance, and 
the most sublime soul. 

During his residence in France and Italy, Milton's virtues and 
accomplishments gained him the friendship of some of the most 
gifted men of the age He lived, in respect to his own country, 
at a period of political trouble ; but he was neither " a bigot of 
the iron time" of Cromwell, nor a sycophant in the licentious 
court of Charles II. He was a true republican, and Cromwell, 
had distinguished him : consequently, after the Stuart ascended 
the throne, he fell into obscurity and neglect. But what was in* 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. S3 

finitely more afflictive, he was totally deprived of sight at the age 
of forty-two years. The happiness of this great man depended 
little upon fortune. His intellectuaj and moral worth gave dig- 
nity to his condition, and when he was removed from active life, 
he was not forsaken of honourable friendships. His divine com- 
•placency, and the consolations that sustained his spirit, are ex- 
hibited by his own declarations. 

A person engaged in a controversy with Milton, enraged at 
the zeal with which he supported the cause of civil and religious 
liberty, reproached him with his blindness, as a retribution of 
God upon the principles which he had defended Upon this oc- 
casion, the poet made the following reply to his accuser : 

** I do not regard my lot either with wearmess or compunc- 
tion ; 1 continue in the same sentiments fixed and immoveable, 
I do not think God displeased with me, neither is he displeased ; 
on the contrary, I experience and thankfully acknowledge his 
paternal clemency and beniirnity towards me in every thing that 
is of the greatest moment ; specially in this, that he himself ' on- 
soling and encouragintf my spirit, 1 acquiesce without a murmur 
in his sacred dispensations. It is through his grace that I find 
my friends, even more than before, kind and officious towards me 
— that they are my consolers, honourers, visiters, and assistants. 
Those who are ui the higliest consideration in the republic, find-, 
ing that the light of my ey^s d^()arted from me, not being sloth- 
ful and inactive, but while I was '»vith constancy and resolution 
placing myself in the foremost post of danger, for the defence of 
sacred liberty, do not on their part desert me. Nor is it an oc- 
casion of anguish to mc, though you count it miserable, that I 
am fallen in vulgar estiaiation into the class of the blind, the un- 
fortunate, the wretched, and the helpless ; since my hope is, that 
I am thus brought nearer to the mercy and protection of the uni- 
versal Father. 

*' There is a path, as the apostle teaches me, through weak- 
ness to a more consummate strength ; let me therefore be help- 
less, so that in my debility the better and more immortal part of 
our human nature may be more effectually displayed ; so that 
amidst my darkness, the light of the Divine countenance may 
shine forth more bright — than shall I be at once helpless, and 
yet of giant strength: blind, yet of vision most penetrating: 
thus may I be in this helplessness carried on to fulness of joy, 
and in this darkness surrounded with the light of eternal day."'— 
Translated from the Latin of MiUon) JDefensio Secunda, 



^4 rOETRY POtt SCHOOLS. 



The more powerful of Milton^s poems may be found in dif- 
ferent collections of poetry, as well as in his entire works ; such 
passage3 as were suitable to this book are here inserted. CoW'* 
per has translated from Milton's Latin poetry some endearing 
verses to the poet's father — they are an affecting acknowledge^ 
ment of the benefits he had derived from that exemplary parent. 

"TO MY FATHER. 



•** Thou hatest not the gentle Muse, 



My father I for thou never badst me tread 

The beaten path, and broad, that leadst right on 

To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son 

To the insipid clamours of the bar, 

To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; 

But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 

My mind with treasure, led'st me far away 

From city-din to deep retreats, to banks 

And streams Aonian : and, with free consent, 

Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. 

I speak not now, on more important themes 
Intent, of common benefits, and such 
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, 
My Father ! who, when I had opened once 
Ti)e stores of Roman rlietoric, and learned 
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, 
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, 
Thyself did'st counsel me to add the flow'rs 
That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth 
fLalian his degen'rate speech adorns, 
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
And Palastine's prophetic songs divine. 

To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contains, 
The earth beneath it, and the air between, 
The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
All cloud remov'd, inclines her beautious head. 
And offers me the lip, if dull of heart, 
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ft5 

Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds, 
That covet it ; what could my Father more ? 
What more could Jove himself, unles he gave 
His own abode, the heav'n, in which he reigns ? 
More eligible gifts than these were not 
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe, 
As they were insecure, who made the boy 
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule 
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath, 

I therefore, although last and least, my place 
Among the learned in the laurel grove 
Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines, 
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng 
Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
Away, then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away, 
And, Envy, with ihy "jealous leer malign I" 
Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth 
Her venomed tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
Ye all are impotent against my peace, 
S^'or T am privileged, and bear my breast 
Safe, and too high, for your viperian wound. 

But thou ! my Father, since to render thanks 
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
Thy liberality, exceeds my power, 
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, 
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! 
Ye too, the favoiite pastime of my youth, 
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
To hope longevity, and to survive 
Your master's funeral, not soon absorbed 
In the oblivious Lethaean gulf. 
Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
Improve the Fathers of a distant age !" 



The hoy^ the world's vice-luminary. — In mythology is is rela« 
ted that Apollo, or the Sun, permitted his son Phaeton to driva 
the celestial coursers, which, according to the fable, bear the suQ 
round the earth, and that the unpractised charioteer would hare 
set the world on fire, had he not been precipitated into the liw 





3j IPOEtRY FOB SCHOOT^. 

Lethacan gulf .-^Those who tasted the waters of Lethe forgot 
tlie past. 



Milton's minor pieces were written before he was thirty: the 
Paradise Lost was published when he had attained the age ot 
sixty years. Comus, L'Allegro, and Penseroso, are delightful, 
but Paradise Lost has a power and elevation in it, a variety, ami 
sublimity of excellence, which have given to Milton that rank as 
a sacred poet which belongs to him only. But his fame was not 
awarded to him while he lived— his place in society was humble, 
and he was never distinguished during his life but by a few ot his 
more discerning contemporaries „ , , , r , ,. 

"He stood alone," says Mr Campbell,'^ and aloof above his 
times, the bard of immortal subjects, and, as far as there is per- 
petuity in language, of immortal tame. The very choice of those 
subiects bespoke a contempt of any spf^cies of excellence that was 
attainable by other men. TherR is something that overawes the 
mind in conceiving his long deliberated selection of that theme- 
Ins attempting it when his eyes v/ere shut upon the face of nature 
—his dependence, we might almost say, on supernatural inspira- 
tion and in the calm air of strength with which he opens Paradise 
Lost, beginning a imghtv performance without the appearance 
of an effort 'leaking the subject all in all, his powers could no 
where else have enjoved the same scope. It was only from the 
heicrht of this great argument that he could look back upon eter- 
nity past, and forward upon eternity to come, that he could sur- 
vey the abyss of infernal darkness, open visions of Paradise, or 
ascend to heaven and breathe empyreal air." . r.i 

The subject of Paradise Lost, is taken from that portion ot the 
Hebrew Scriptures which relates to our first parents. It sup- 
poses what many Christians admit to be true in theology, that 
God placed the first human pair in a happy condition and pro- 
mised that they and all their posterity should remain for ever in 
that happy state, provided they would obey God ; but that, it 
they would disobey the divine commands, they should be punish- 
ed They disobeyed God, were driven out of Paradise and they 
and all their descendants were, thenceforth, |made hable to sin. 
sorrow, and death. . 

Satan, a mahgnant spirit, tempted the first woman to break the 
prohibition of God, she tempted her husband, and both m con. 
sequence of their weakness, were driven out from Lden, their 
primitive dweUing place, and destined to - l^^our and sorrow 
in some other region. The only allcviaUon which their expui- 



poETRv van SCHOOLS. 



67 



131011 from Paradise admitted, was the promise of God, that " one 
greater man" than Adam should restore his descendants to the 
nioral image of God, which they had forfeited, and likewise re- 
concile them to God's government and will. 

SENTENCE TRONOUNCED ON ADAM AND EVE. 

In the Xlth Book of the Paradise Lost, Adam and Eve, after 
they had broken the divine command, are represented as lament- 
ing their offence, when Michael, a spirit sent from God, descends 
to them, and commands them to leave their native Paradise. Per 
reiving his approach, Adam to Eve 

•" thus spake : 

Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps 
Of us will soon determine, or impose 
New laws to be observed ; for I descry 
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill 
One of the heav'niy host, and by his gait. 
None of the meanest, some great potentate 
Or of the thrones above, such majesty 
Invests him coming ; yet not terrible, 
That I should fear, nor sociably mild, 
As Raphael, that I should much confide, 
But solemn and sublime, whom not t' offend, 
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire. 

He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew nigh. 
Notm his shape celestial, but as man 
Clad to meet man ; over his lucid arms 
A military vest of purple Jloiced, 
Livelier than MeliboBan, or the grain 
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old 
In time of truce ; Ins had dipt the woof; 
His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime 
In manhood where youth ended ; by his side 
As in a glist'ninsr zodiac hung the sword, 
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. 
Adam bowed low : he kingly from his state 
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared : 

Adam, heav'n's high behest no preface needs : 
Sufficient that thy prayVs are heard, and death, 
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, 
Defeated of his seizure many days 
Given thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent. 
And one bad act with many deeds well done 



<^5 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Mayst cover : well may then thy Lord appeased 
Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious cldim 
But longer in this Paradise to dwell 
Permits not ; to remove thee I am come, 
And send thee from the garden forth to till 
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. 

He added not, for Adam at the r.ews 
Heart-struck with chilhng gripe of sorrow stood, 
That all his senses bound ; Eve, who unseen 
Yei all had heard, with audible lament 
Discover'd soon the place of her retire." 
A military vest, &c. — Fhis magnificent attire of the archan 
gel is compared with that of Asiatic kings, who in ancient times 
endeavoured in their warfare to astonish their enemies by their 
splendour, as well as to overcome hem by their military prowess. 
Iris had dipt the ivoof — The «>oq/'of any texture is composed 
of the transverse threads which interlace the threads that form 
the warp of the woven substance. Iris is the goddess of the 
rainbow, which exhibits all the prismatic colours, and coneequent- 
3j the most pure and vivid hues in nature. 



THE DEPARTURE FROM PARADISE. 

The archangel fulfils the commission with which God had in- 
trusted him with peculiar tenderness to our first parents. They are 
not driven without gracious preparation into an untried condition 
of existence. Michael " ascends in the vision of God" with Adam, 
and foreshows to him the degeneracy and misery of his posterity, 
but to console him for these tremendous prospects, he reveals to 
him " salvation by Jesus Christ" — the reformation of a '* per^ 
verted world»" and the commencement of a kingdom, 

*' Founded in righteousness and peace and love, 
To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss." 

Thus enlightened and encouraged, Adam submissively replies. 
to his celestial visitant — 

*' Greatly instructed 1 shall hence depart, 
Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill 
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain j 
Beyond which was my folly to aspire. 
Henceforth I learn, that to obev is best, 
And love with fear the only God, to walk 
As in his presence, ever to observe 



I 



POETRY FOR SCHOOTJ?, 5^ 

Ills providence, and on him sole depend ; 

Merciful over all his works, with good 

Still overcoming evil, and by small 

Accomplishing great things, by things deemed weak 

Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise 

By simply meek : that suffering for truth's sake 

Is fortitude to highest victory. 

And to the faithful, death the gate of life — • 

Taught this by his example whom I now 

Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest. 

To whom thus also th' angel last replied. 
This having learned, thou hast attained the sum 
Of wisdom ; hope no higher though all the starS 
Thou knewest by name, and all th' ethereal pow'rs^ 
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works. 
Or works of God in heav'n, air, earth, or sea, 
And all the riches of this world enjoy 'dst. 
And all the rui«, one em 'ire ; only add 
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith. 
Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love. 
By name to come, called Charity, the soul 
Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loath 
To leave this Paradise, but shalt p- ssess 
A Paradise within thee, happier tar. 

Let us descend now therefore from this top 
Of speculation ; for the hour precise 
Exacts our parting hence ; and see, the guards, 
By me encamped on ynder hill, — expect 
Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword 
In signal of remove, waves fiercely round ; 
We may no longer stay : go, waken Eve ; 
Iler also I with gentle dreams have calmed 
Portending good, and all her spirits composed 
To meek submission : thou at season fit 
Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard^. 
Chiefly what may concern her faith to know ; 
That ye may live, which will be many days, 
Both in one faith unanimous though sad, 
With cause, for evils past, yet much more cheered 
With meditation on the happy end 

He ended, and they both descend the hill ; 
D^gcended, Adjim to the bow'r where Eve 



9(f rOETEir FOR SCHOOE^.^ 

Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked , 
And thus with words not sad she him received. 

Whence thou return*st, and whither went'st, I kiiow^. 
For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, 
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good 
Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress 
Wearied I fell asleep : but now lead on ; 
In me is no delay ; with thee to go. 
Is to stay here ; without thee here to stay, 
Is to go hence unwilling ; thou to me 
Art all things under heav'n, all places thou, 
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. 
This further consolation yet secure 
I carry hence ; thous^h all by me is lost, 
Such favor I unworthy am vouchsafed, 
By me the promised seed shall all restore. 

So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard 
Well pleased, but answered not ; for now too nigL 
Th' archangel stood, and from th' other hill 
To their fix'd station, all m bright array 
The cherubim descended ; on the ground 
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist 
Risen from a river o*er the marish glides, 
And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel 
Homeward returning. High in front advanced. 
The brandished sword of God before them blazed 
Fierce as a comet ; which with torrid heat, 
And vapour as the Lybian air adust, 
Began to parch that temperate clime ; whereat 
In either hand the hastening Angel caught 
Our lingering parents, and to th' eastern gate 
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast 
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. 

They looking back, all th' eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 
Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms : 
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon 
The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide : 
They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slo^v? 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 



POT^TB* von SCHOOIS. 9f 

PARTHIA. 

The subject of Paradise Regained may be found in the fourth 
chapter of the gospel of St. Matthew — it is what is commonly 
called the Temptation of Christ. When this event occurred, 
our Saviour had attained the age of thirty years, and was about 
to begin that moral revolution in the world, which his teaching 
and example afterwards accomplished. From the gospel history 
it appears that at this time an evil spirit counselled him to assume 
the state of a temporal prince ; but to have done this he must 
have accommodated himself to prevailing vices and institutions 
wholly incompatible with his high office, and as he came into the 
world in the name of the Lord his God, he resolved to serve him 
only, and not the Prince of this world. 

The tempter " taking him into an exceeding high mountain j 
showed him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory oi 
them." The most remarkable nations then existing were the 
Parthians, the Greeks and Ro.nans. Parthia, on the ancient 
maps, was the country immediately east of Syria, and south of 
the Caspian sea, and contained at that time a populous and pow- 
erful state. Among the kingdoms which, according to MiltoDj 
passed under the survey of Jesus, was Parthia, and he has dC" 
scribed its warfare — military prowess, or mere physical force, 
being the chief distinction of that barbarous nation. 



There 



Artaxata, Teredon. Ctesiphon, 

Turning with easy eye thou may'st behold. 

All these the Parthian, now some ages past^ 

By great Arsaces led. who founded first 

That empire, under his dominion holds 

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. 

And just in time thou com'st to have a view 

Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king 

In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host 

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild 

Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid 

He marches now in haste. See. though from far. 

His thousands, in what martial equipage 

They issue forth, steel bows, and shafts, their armSj 

Of equal dread in flight, or in pursuit ; 

All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; 

See how in warhke muster they appear, 

la rhombs and wedges, and half-moons, and wings> 



Sii POETRY ron scnoniA 

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 
The city-gdtes out-poured, light armed troops 
In coats of mail and military pride ; 
In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong, 
Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice 
Of many provinces from bound to bound, 
He saw them in their forms of battle ranged, 
How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them she 
Sharp sleet of arrowy showers agamat the face 
Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ; 
The field all iron cast a gleammg brown : 
Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor on each horn 
Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight, 
Chariots or elephants endorsed with towers 
Of archers, nor of laboring pioneers 
A multitude with spades *nd axes armed * 

To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill, 
Or where plain was, raise hill, or overlay 
With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke ; 
Mules after these, camels and dromedaries, 
And wagons fraught with u ensils of war. 

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, 
When Agrican with all his northern powers 
Besieged Albracca, as rom mces tell. 
The city of Gallaphorne, from whence to win 
The fairest of her sex Angelica 
His daughter, sought by many prowest knight 
Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemagne : 
Such and so numerous was their chivalry." 



Agrican with all his northern powers, &c. — This and the five 
following|lines furnish a comparison between some fictitious army 
and that of Parthia. Charletnagne was Emperor of the Franks, 
since called the French, and a great promoter of the civilization 
of Europe. He lived A. D. 800, but the French romance wri 
ters composed many fictions concerning his achievements, and fc 
one of these Milton refers in this place, 

Proivest knighis. — Courageous and strong knighlSi 

P«»/m>.— Pagan, 



rOETKV FOR SCHOOLS* 



e^ 



ROME. 



Milton had been at Rome. Her ruins still testify her forme 
matn ficence, and he doubtless fel'- all that the contemplation ot 
^r^departed glory inspires. The time he describes was in the 
reTgn of Tiberius, the successor of Augustus. The city of Rome 

hTbeen increasing in riches and f -^^<^- ^^^ .^^^ ^^cS 
and for three of these centuries the Ro:nan ^^^f^^^^^f ^^^^^^ 
bevond the limits of Italy. The commerce of ^^^^^^^'^^ 
from Britain to India ; and the inhabitants of this vast metropolis 
computed to be sev;ral millions, consisted, like Jerusalem ol 
crr««1or«nd^^ heaven, that is, of people from all countnes 
then civilized. This is sufficiently plain from the ammated dc^ 
scription given of Rome by Milton : 

*« He brought our Saviour to the western side 

Of that high mountain, whence he might behold 

Another plain, thence in the midst 

Divided by a river, of whose banks 

On each side an imperial city stood, 

With tow'rs and temples proudly elevate 

On sev'n small hills, with palaces adorned, 

Porches an i theatres, baths, aqueducts, 

Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, 

Gardens and groves presented to his eyes, 

Above the height of mountains interposed. 
The city which thou seest no other deem 

Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the eartii 

So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched 

Of nations : there the capitol thou seest 

Above the rest lifting his stately head 

On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel 

Impregnable ; and there mount Palatine, 

Th' imperial palace, compass huge and high 

The structure, skill of noblest architects. 

With gilded battlements, conspicuous far. 

Turrets and terraces, and glittering spires ; 
Many a fair edifice besides, more like 
Houses of God, thou may'si behold 
Outside and inside both, pillars and roots, 



^^ roETRr FOTi scnooig. ] 

Carved work, the hand of famed artificers 
In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 

Thence to tlie gates cast round thine eye, and sec 
What conflux issuing forth, or entering in, 
Pra3tors, proconsuls to their provinces 
Hastin?, or to return, in robes of state ; 
Lictors and rods, tlie ensigns of their power, 
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; 
Or embassies from regions far remote. 
In various habits on the Appian road, 
Or on tir iEinilian, some from farthest south, 
Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, 
Meroe Nilotic isl«, and more to west. 
The realm of I'occhus to the Black-moor sea ; 
From th' Asian kings and Parthian among these, 
From India and the golden Chersonese, 
And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, 
Dusk faces with wliito silken turbans wreathed 
From Gallia, Gades, and the British west. 
Germans and Scythians, and Sarmatians north 
Beyond Danubiusto the Tauric pool. 

AH nations now to Rome obedience pay» 
To Rome's great Em >eror, whose wide domain 
In ample territory, wealth and power, 
Civility of manners, arts and arms. 
And long renown, thou justly mayest prefer 
Before the Parthian ; the^e two thrones except, 
The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight. 
Shared among petty kings too far removed ; 
These havuig shown ihee, I have shown thee all 
The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory." 

The reader who has been instructed in history, knows that this 
.splendour has in the course of years passed away, and that though 
travellers still resort to Rome for the gratification of curiosity, yet 
the monuments of its greatness form the present attraction to it. 
Under the Emperors, such bloody civil wars raged at Rome, that 
ik became an unsafe and unhappy residence; the arts of peace 
were neglected, and its population insensibly diminished. The 
Goths and other barbarians devastated the empire ; and in A. D. 
176 Rome was abandoned by its last Emperor. Then Genseric 
and Alaric, two barbarian generals, with their infatuated armies, 
took and ravaged the city of the Caesars. But they did not cn 



rOBTRY FOB SCHOOLS. 9^ 

iirMv demolish it— it has ever retained its name, and after its con- 
querors grew weary of destruction, civilization sprung up from 

its^as^s.^ 800 Charlemagne, who included Italy in his domin- 
ions yielded the city to the Pope, formerly the Bishop of Rome 
From that time Rome became the capital of a new dommion^ 
that of the Catholic religion : and the fine arts of pamtmg, sculp- 
ture and architecture, have attamed to high perfection in modern 
Rome Still Rome continual^ decays, and its present popula- 
tion httle exceeds 100,000. Mr. Pope describes Rome thus ! 

*' See the wild waste of all-devourirg years 1 
How Rome her own sad sepulchre r-.ppears, 
With nodding arches, broken temples spread 
The very tombs now vanished like their dead ! 
Imperial wonders raised on nations spoiled. 
Where mixed with slaves the groaning martyr toiled i 
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, 
Now drained a distant cuntry of her floods : 
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey ; 
Statues of men scarce l-ss alive than they 1 
Some felt the silent stroke of mouldcrmg age, 
Some hostile fury, some religious rage. 
Barbarian bhndness, Christian zeal conspire, 
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. 
Perhaps, by its own ruins saved from flame. 
Some buried marb'-e half preserves a name ; 
That name the learned with fierce disputes pursue, 
And give to Titus old Vespasian's due." 

Barbarian blindness. Christian zeal conspire, 

And Papal piety, and Gothic fre — 
These several causes contributed to the destruction of Rome^ 
The Goths with undiscermng fury, burnt, battered down and 
buried many beautiful works of ancient arts ; and the Catholic 
Christians, finding among the buildmgs of Rome ^lany heathen 
temples and manv statues of ancient gods and heroes, thought it 
their duty to destroy those remains of Paganism. 

Soine buried marble half preserves a name. 
It has become desirable among the curious and the learned t6 
recover and identify as much as possible of the buried sculpture 
of ancient Rome. Much of this has been dismterred, and many 



dQ POETHY FOB SCHOOLS. 

disputes among connoisseurs have originated in the doublful chaf' 
acter of these marbles. 



The most animated and touching commemoration of ruined 
Rome is by Lord Byron. This great poet visited that city within 
a few years of this time, and his imagination, saddened in all its 
views by affliction, has formed a most striking picture of the des- 
olation of that great Babylon. — 

*' Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul! 
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
In their shut breasts their pettv misery. 
What are our woes and sufferance ? come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken throne.- and temples, Ye ! 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 

The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo j 
An empty urn within her withered hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
or their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
Hise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; 
She saw her glories star by star expire. 
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 
Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :*— 
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
And say, ' here was, or is,' where all is doubly night ? 

The double night of ages, and of her, 

Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wraps 

All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 

The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 

And Knowledge spreads them in her ample lap ; 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stumbhng o'er recollections ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry ' Eureka !' it is clear — - 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near, 

Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conquror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
Alas, for TuUy's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
And Livy's pictur'd page ! — but these shall be 
Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free !' 



The Niobe of nations. — This metaphor alludes to a well-known 
classical fable. Niobe, a princess of Lydia, had twelve beauti- 
ful children, six sons and six daughters. Latona, the mother of 
Diana and Apollo, had only those two children, but Niobe boast- 
ed that herself and her beautiful children were more proper ol> 
jects of worship than Latona and her children. To punish this 
insolence, Apollo and Diana destroyed Niobe's sons and daugh- 
ters ; and Niobe, overwhelmed by her misfortune, was changed 
to stone, and became the source of a rivulet. This account of 
Niobe is taken from Homer. Achilles, in the twenty-fourth book 
of the Iliad, says to Priam, who is mourning the death of his sow 
HectoT, 

"But now the peaceful hours of sacred night 
Demand refection, and to rest invite : 
Nor thou, O father ! thus consumed with wo, 
The common cares that nourish life, forego. 
Not thus did Niobe, of form divine, 
A parent once, whose sorrows equalled thine : 
Six youthful sons, as many blooming maids, 
In one sad day beheld the Stygian shades ; 
These by Apollo's silver bow were slain, 
Those, Cynthia's arrows stretched upon the plain. 
So was her pride chastised by wrath divine, 
Who matched her own with bright Latona's line ; 
But two the goddess, twelve the queen enjoyed ; 
Those boasted twelve th' avenging two destroyed. 
Steeped in their blood, and in the dust outspread^ 
9 



?D POETRY FOR BCUOOfLff, 

Nine days neglected lay exposed the dead ; 
None by to weep lliem, to inhume them none ; 
(For Jove had lamed the nation ail to stone :) 
The gods themselves at length relenting gave 
Th' unhappy race the honours of a grave, 
Herself a rock (for such was heaven's high will,) 
Thro' deserts wild now pours a weeping rill ; 
Where round the bed whence Achelous springs, 
The wat'ry fairies dance in mazy rings, 
There high on Sypalus his shaggy brow. 
She stands her own sad monument of wo ; 
The rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow." 



Mirage^ an optical illusion which occurs in sandy deserts. The 
distant sands to the eye of the thirsty traveller assumes the ap- 
pearance of water, and he fancies that he shall be refreshed, but 
as he approaches the supposed wares he is cruelly undeceived. — 
In the same manner, the poet supposes that a traveller who 
should seek in modern Rome for some object of which he has 
read in works of antiquity, would be as much deceived in imagin- 
ing he had got sight of it as the traveller in the desert is deceived 
by the mirage. 

The last stanza, from Lord Byron, laments the intellectual de- 
generacy of modern Rome, where no patriot like Brutus, no ora- 
tor like Cicero, no poet like Virgil, no historian like Livy, now 
exists. Yet, the poet intimates that the spirit of these immortal 
minds yet lives, and may still revive the genius of liberty which has 
been stifled by the influences of despotism and superstition. 



In describing the glories of the world, to disregard a place 
^vhere the human mind had attained the highest perfection, and 
where the arts had flourished for ages, would have been an over- 
sight not at all characteristic of the pervading intelligence which 
comprehended the various genius of them all. Therefore, before 
he descends from the mount of observation, the tempter stops 
awhile to point out the distinguishing genius of Athens. That 
city had then for two centuries been under the dominion of Rome, 
but her language, her monuments, her traditions, and many of 
her institutions still existed ; and thither the best educated of the 
Homans resorted to complete their course of study. Milton's 
verses represent Athens thus ; 



POETRY FOB SCHOOIS. 99 



Behoia 



Where on the iEgean shore a city stands 

Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil, 

Athens the eye of Gteece, mother of arts 

And eloquence, native to famous wits 

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, 

City or suburban, studious walks and shades ► 

See there the olive grove of Academe, 

Plato's retirement, where th- Attic bird 

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long. 

There flowery hill Hymettus with the sound 
Of bees' industrious murmur oft invites 
To studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls 
His whisp'ring stream ; within the wall then view 
The schools of ancient sages ; his who bred 
Great Alexander to subdue the world, 
Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next : 
Tiiere shalt thou hestr and learn the seeret powei^ 
Of harmony in tones and numbers hit 
By voice or hand, and various measured rerse, 
iEolian charms and Dorian lyric odes, 
And bis who gare them breath, but higher sung. 
Blind Melesigenes thence Homer called, 
Whose poem Phcebus challeng^jd for his own. 

Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught 
In chorus or iambic , teachers best 
Of moral prudence, with delight received 
In brief sententious precepts, while they treat 
Of fate and chance, and change in human hfe ; 
High actions and high passions best describing. 
Thence to the famous orators repair, 
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence 
Wielded at will that fierce democratic. 
Shook th' arsenal and fulmined oTer Greece, 
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne. 

To sage philosophy next lend thine ear, 
From heav'n descended to the low-rooft house 
Of Socrates; see there his tenement, 
Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth 
Mellifluous streams that watered a'l the schools 
Of academics, old and new, with those 
Sirnamed Peripatetics, and the sect 
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe 



200 POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The poets, orators, and philosophical schools of Athens arc 
only mentioned here, ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides were 
the grave tragedians— ^eac^er* best of moral prudence. The 
challenge of Phoebus means that Homer's poetry was declared 
by some to be that of Apollo himself. jEoUan charms and Do- 
rian lyric odes, alludes to different measures and dialects of 
Greek poetry. He, who bred great Alexander, was the philoso- 
pher Aristotle. The chief of the thundering orators, was De- 
mosthenes, who exhorted his countrymen, by the most powerful 
eloquence, to resist Philip of Macedon ; and Socrates was so 
pure, humble, and powerful a moralist, that he has sometimes 
been compared with the founder of our religion. 



COMUS. 



Among the ancients, Comus was the God of low pleasures- - 
of those noisy and foolish frolics which are suited to night rather 
/nan to day, and which some ignorant and iuteinperate people 
dehght in. Milton's Masque of Comus is a beautiful poem : it 
is founded upon the supposed power which Comus possesses over 
the minds of the pure and wise, and over the weak and sensual. 
Milton presumes that when men devote themselves to the rites of 
Comus, that is to excessive drinking, and, as the Gospel says, to 
*' riotous living," they become m reality feeas?^, though they 
know not that they are thus dei^raded, but, that jf the mind is 
firm in good principles, it will resist every attraction of vice, and 
retain its innocence under the strongf^st temptations. Comus 
ivas written in the dramatic form, to be represented by the Earl 
of Bridgewater's family at Ludlow Castle. 

The Fable of Comus is this— A beautiful lady, accompanied 
by her two brothers, is journeying through the perplexed paths of 
a drear wood. A spirit from heaven, charged with the care of the 
yount; travellers, secretly watches over them, but the brothers for 
a while are separated from their sister. The lady, in the absence 
of her brothers, is found by Comus, but she resists all his attrac- 
tions ; and though she is endangered, finally escapes from his 
snares. 

" Comus enters with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in 
the other ; with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts 
of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel 
glistening ; they came in making a riotous and unruly noise, with 
torches in their hands." 

The lady hears this noise, but does not see the revellers. She 



yOF.TRf FOR SCBTOOLS. 101 

is introduced listening and in doubt, but encouraging herself in 
her own innocence, and in the gracious protection of the " Su- 
preme Good." 

The Lady enters. 

" This way the noise was, if niine ear be true, 
My best guide now ; methought it was the sound 
Of riot and ill-managed merriment, 
Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, 
When from their teeming flocks, and granges full, 
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss, I should be loath 
To meet the rudeness, and swilled insolence 
Of such lafe wassailers ; yet O where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way^ resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favor of these pines, 
Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me then, when the grey-hooded Even. 
Like a sad votaiistin Palmer's weed, 
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phccbus' wain. 
But where they are, and why they came not back.. 
Is now the labour of my thoughts: * * * 
^ * * * ^ thousand fantasies 
Begin to throng into my memory. 
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, 
And aery tongues, that syllable mens' names, 
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 

These thoughts may startie well, but not astound 
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By strong siding champion, conscience. — 

welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, 
And thou unblemished form of chastity ; 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That he, the Supreme Good, t' whom all things ill 
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, 
Would send a glist'ring guardian if need were 
To keep mv life and honour untssailed, 
9*^ 



i 02 i^oETRY FOB icnoot? 

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 
T did not err, there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night, 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 
I cannot hallow to my brothers, but 
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthes? 
I'll venture, for my new enlivened spirits 
Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. 

SONG. 

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 
Within they aery shell. 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
A.fld in the violet embroidered vale. 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That like thy Narcissus are ? 

O if thou have 
Hid them in some flow'ry cave. 
Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere, 
So may'st thou be translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to all heav'n's harmonies 

CoMUs appears to tlie lady in the disguise of a shepherds 

Com. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould ^^i 
Breatli such divine, enchanting ravishment ? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast. 
And with these raptures moves the "vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence : 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty vaulted night, 
At every fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled ! I have oft heard 
My Mother Circe with the Sirens three , 
Amidst the flowery kirtled Naiades 
Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs, 
Who as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, 
And lap it in Elysium ; Scylla wept, 
And chid her barking waves into attention, 
Apdfell Charybdis murmured soft applause, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. lOo 

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the seus€j 

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; 

But such a sacred, and homefelt delight. 

Such sober certainty of waking bliss 

I never heard till now. Pll speak to her^ 

And she shall be my queen. Hail foreign wonder. 

Whom certain these rough shades did never breeds 

Unless the goddess that in rural shrine 

Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest Song 

Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog 

To touch the prosp'rous growth of this tall wood. 

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is that praise lost 
That is addressed to unattending ears ; 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 

Comus, What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus ? 

Lady. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth. 

Cornw^. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides '; 

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf 

Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why ? 

Lady. To seek i' th' valley some cool friendly sprint, 

Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady ? 

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return 

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. 

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! 

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need ? 

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 

Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ? 

Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips. 

Comus, Two such I saw what time the labored ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came, 
And the swinkt hedger at his supper sat ; 
1 saw them uader a green mantling vine 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; 
Their port was more than human, as they stood ; 
I took it for a faery vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element. 
That in the colours of the rainbow live, 
And play i' th' plighted clouds. 1 was awe-struckj 
And as I passed, I worshiped ; if those you seek; 
U w«rQ a journey like the path to Heaven^ . 



? 



^04 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To help you find them. 

Lady. Gentle Villager, 

What readiest way would bring me to that place . 

Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. 

Lady. To find out that, ^ood Sher)herd, I suppose. 
In such a scant alk.wance of star-light, 
Would overtask tho b^st land-pilot's art. 
Without the sure guess of well-practised fce(. 

Comus. I know each lane, and every alley ^reen. 
Dingle, or bushy dell ofthis wild wood. "^ 

And every bosky bourn from side to side, 
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood j 
And if you stray-attendance be yet lodg'd, 
Or shroud within these limits, i shall know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallet rouse ; if otherwise 
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low 
But loyal cottage, vhere you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lady. Shepherd, J take thy word, 

And trust thy honest offered ct)urtesy, 

Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 

With smoky rafters, than m tap'stry halls 

And courts of princes, where ii first was named, 

And yet is most pretended : in a place 

Less warranted than this, or less secure, 

1 can not be, that I siiould fear to change it. 

Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial 

To my proportions strength. Shepherd', lead on/ " 



Milton has been accused as being deficient in respect to the 
lemale character. He speaks of Eve, in regard to Adam, as '' not 
equal," and seems to consider her as not altogether worthy to 
discourse with the anjrel who came from Heaven to Paradise 
13ut nothing can surpa.v^s the delicacy and elevation of sentiment 
with which he represents the Lady in Comus, nor does he seem 
to consider her as a solitary instance of the excellence and loveli- 
ness peculiar to her sex. 

The celestial Spirit who attends the brothers and their sister 
distinguishes between those low-minded beings, all whose thoughts 
are limited to this world, and that superior order, ' 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. J0{> 

•'-- tliatbydue steps aspire 

To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of Eternity : — 
To such my errand is^^ — 

says he. And the Lady's brotliers, when they have left her, arc 
relieved by the conviction of her exalted purity of their natural 
apprehension for her safety. One of them says — 

My sister is not so defenceless left 

As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength 

Which you remember not. 

•H- * ^^ *•}(■■)(■ ^ 

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity. 
That when a soul is found sincerely so, 
A thousand liveried Angels lacky her, 
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
And in clear dream and solemn vision. 
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, 
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape, 
The unpolluted temple of the mind. 
And turn it by degrees to the soul's essencej 
Till all be made immortal," 



Circe — the mother of Coinus, was an enchantress who inhabit 
ed an island of the Mediterranean, and who, like her son, trans- 
formed her associates to brutes. 

The Syrens three — were females who inhabited a small island 
near Sicily. They charmed Faarines by their delightful voiceSj 
and made them delay their voyage. 

Scylla wept. — Scylla was a female who was transformed to a 
monster by the arts of Circe, and was fixed to the strait of Messi- 
na. A whirlpool on the coast opposite to Scylla was Charyhdis 

Naiades. Young and beautiful virgins who presided over 
rivers and fountains. 

Echo sweetest nymph. — Echo is the return of sound — but the 
mythology supposes that Echo is the voice of a female, who, as a 
punishment for loquacity, is invisible, and only permitted to re- 
peat the words of others. Narcissus was a beautiful youth whom 
Echo loved. 



106 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Meander — was a river of Asia Minor, remarkable for its wind- 
ing course 

Pan and Sylvan — were wood gods. 
' Hebe — a youthful goddess, very beautiful. Canova's statue of 
Hebe is among the most admired works of that artist. 



»RYD«Jr. 



This eminent poet was born in 1631, and died in 1700. Hie 
poetry is not of a character to interest the young, but the pass- 
ages inserted among these specimens serve to illustrate the 
manners of a past age, and therefore properly belong to a 
collection of poetry which is intended not merely to contain ver- 
ses, but also to exhibit facts that are connected with the poetry 
of the English language. 

TOURNAMENTS. 

Chivalry went out of use because the laws in Europe were im- 
proved by the increasing kPiOvvlcrig!^ and good sense of the peo- 
ple. When the order of government and the authority of the 
laws were generally understood and acknowledged in England, 
the rights of all people were no longer defended by the strife of 
arms, but were settled by courts of justice, and all ranks of the 
nation learned to respect each other. The English barons first 
disputed the arbitrary power of the kmgs, and the people learned 
from their example to consider themselves men ; and all classes 
in society, because they knew better, left off preying upon their 
weaker neighbors. The English nobility, when fighting began 
to be less needed as as a defence, began to take care of their 
estates, and at length they gave up the military service of the 
vassals, who continued peaceable laboroers upon the grounds 
of the landholders. The laws and the public opinion no longer 
permitted men to take up arms except in the service of the state, 
when the Parliament and the king should order them to do so. 

The evils which had disturbed society, for the want of knowl- 
edge, and the want of laws properly administered, ceased to ex- 
ist ; but the amusements and public spect^icles which had been con- 
nected with Chivalry, tboiigt) Chivalry no longer continued as the 
profession of gentlemen, still interested people. The most mem 



rosTRyroB SCHOOLS. 107 

orable of the exhibitions connected with Chivalry, was the Tourna- 
ment or Passage of Anns. This was a trial of strength and skill 
at the rarious exercises which the Knights-errant and gentlemen- 
soldiers had practised in actual warfare. The Tournament was 
usually held by the desire of some prince or distinguished noble- 
man, and was practised in France and England. The novel of 
Ivanhoe gives a delighfuldescription of a tournament held at Ash- 
by in the county of Leicester in England It may be that this very 
tournament never took place, but without doubt that interesting 
relation is a faithful picture of such tournaments as were actually 
exhibited. 

For the purpose of exhibiting the tournament, a smooth surface 
of ground of considerable extent was chosen, and an oblong 
square, about a quarter of a mile in length, and an eighth of a 
mile in breadth, was enclosed by palisades :— gates at the oppo- 
site ends of this enclosure admitted the combatants. The tents 
or pavilions of these Champions were ornamented with flags and 
pennons — these were of the particular colour which was usually 
worn by the Knights. " The cords of the tents were of the same 
colour. Before each pavilion was suspended the shield of the 
Knight by whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, 
quaintly disguised as a savage or sylvan man, or in some other 
fantastic dress, according to the taste of his master, and the char- 
acter which he was pleased to assume during the game. From 
the entrance into the lists, a gently sloping passage led up to the 
platform on which the tents were pitched, and the whole was 
guarded by men-at-arms." 

The vvhol« enclosed space was called the Lists. To regulate 
the proceedings, and to preserve order, trumpeters, heralds, and 
armed men were disposed in suitable places within the lists. To 
enter the lists, is a figurative expression still used to signify enter- 
ing into competition with others in a difficult undertaking. 

The Champions were the Challengers — those who defied 
others to contend with them for the mastery in certain exercises. 
At the extremity of the lists, opposite to that occupied by the 
Champions, as a space reserved for such ^' Knights as might be 
disposed to enter the lists with the challengers, behind which were 
placed tents containing refreshments of every kind for their ac- 
commodation, with armourers, farriers, and other attendants in 
readiness to give their services wherever they might be necessary, 

^' The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary 
galleries spread with tapestry and carpets, and accommodated 
with cushions for the convenience of those ladies and nobles whe 



!08 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



attended the tournament. A narrow space, betwixt these galleries 
and the lists, gave accommodation for yeomanry and spectators 
of a better degree than the mere vulgar, and might be compared 
to the pit of a theatre. The promiscuous multitude arranged 
themselves upon large banks of lurf prepared for the purpose, 
which, aided by the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them 
to look over the galleries and obtain a fair view into the lists. Be* 
sides the accommodation which these situations afforded, many 
hundreds perched themselves on the branches of surrounding 
trees, and even the steeple of the neighbouring church was crowd- 
ed with spectators." '^ Neither duty nor mfirmity could keep 
youth or age from such exhibitions." 

A gallery, more distinguished and adorned than the others 
was, on these occasions, fitted up for the presiding prince and 
his retinue ; and opposite to it was another gallery for the ac- 
commodation of the most noble and beautiful ladies. From 
among these the conquering Knight waa expected to choose the 
fairest, whose office it was to crown the hero of the day with 
her own hand— and this lady, after she had been thus distinguish- 
ed, was considered as the Queen of Love and Beautv. These 
were 

" Such sights as poets dream 

On summer eve by haunted stream." 

It was assemblies collected upon such brilliant occasions, con« 
Cerning which Milton wrote, that, 

throngs of knights and barons bold 



In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, 
And store of ladies with bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend." 

Tournaments have been compared to the Olympic ^ames of 
ancient Greece, but the circumstance of admitting the ladies, and 
that of clothing the combatants with art and elegance, made the 
Tournament a far more beautiful spectacle than the contests of 
Greece. 

The design of the combatants at the tournaments was for one 
of the antagonists to disable the other, either, by throwing him 
frorn his horse or breaking his lance. The skill which was mu- 
tually displayed in managing the horse, and in maintaining a long 
contest with grace and activity, made these exhibitions very in 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 109 

leresting ; and, as it always happened, that for some reason or 
other, one of the antagonists would, at the commencement of the 
trial, be preferred to the other, the hopes and fears of his admir- 
ers formed great part of the pleasure derived from the exhibition. 

The challengers proposed to others who would come, the De- 
fiance — which means, that they declared their personal dignity 
and skill in arms superior to any adversary's, unless it should be 
found upon trial that those who dared to encounter were able to 
vanquish them. 

The number of challengers mentioned in Ivanhoe was five ; 
the challengers were not to refuse to encounter any that should 
propose themselves. Any knight who should come might select 
his antagonist by touching his shield with his lance. If the touch 
was made with the blunt end of the lance, that intimated that the 
combat was to be conducted without a designed attack upon the 
lifeof either combatant ; but if the shield was touched with the 
sharp end, it intimated that the Knights v/ere to fight as in actual 
battle. 

*' When the Knights present had accomplished their vow, by 
oach of them breaking five lances, the Prince who should preside 
at the tournament was to declare the victor in the first day's tour- 
ney, who should receive, as prize, a war-horse of exquisite beau- 
ty and matchless strength ; and in addition to this reward of val- 
our, it was announced he should have the pecuhar honour of nam- 
ing the Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should 
be given on the ensuing day. 

*' It was also announced that on the second day, there should 
be a general tournament, in which all the Knights present, who 
were desirous to win praise, might take part ; and being divided 
into two bands of equal numbers, might fight it out manfully, 
until the signal was given by the Prince to cease the combat. 
The elected Queen of Love and Beauty was then to crown the 
Knight whom the Prince should adjudge to have borne himself 
best in this second day, with a coronet composed of thin gold 
plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On this second day 
the knightly games ceased. But on that which followed, feats of 
archery"^ of bull-baiting and other popular amusements, were to 
be practised for the more immediate amusement of the populace. 

*' The lists presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping 
galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, 
and beautiful in the country ; and the contrast of the various 
Oresse^ oi" thiRse dignified spectators, rendeied the view asgaj a§^ 

10 



110 rOETRY FOR 8CH0019. 

it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with the sul)- 
stantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their 
more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of 
brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at the same time, setting off 
its splendour. 

Before the commencement of the tournament the laws which 
regulated it were proclaimed by a herald, and order was preserv- 
ed by men-at arms, or marshals, who carried battle axes in their 
hands, and sometimes struck the disorderly with the pommel of 
their swords. 

" The heralds ceaeed their proclamation with their usual cry 
of 'Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights ;' and gold and silver pie- 
ces were showered on them from the galleries, it being a high 
point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards those who were ac- 
counted the brightest ornaments of their age. The bounty of the 
spectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of 'Love 
of Ladies — Death of Champions — Honour to the Generous — Glo- 
ry to the Brave !'' To which the more humble spectators added 
their acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flour- 
ish of their martial instruments. 

^' When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the 
lists in gay and gUttering procession, and none remained within 
them save the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pee, sat 
on horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite ends of the 
lists. Meantime, the enclosed space at the northern extremity 
of the lists, large as it was, was completely crowded with Knights 
desirous to prove their skill against the challengers, and, when 
viewed from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of 
waving plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and tall 
lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases, attach- 
ed small pennons of about a span's-breadth, which, fluttering in 
the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless motion 
of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

" At length the barriers were opened, and five Knights, chosen 
by lot, advanced slowly mto the area ; a single champion riding 
in front, and the other four following in pairs." 

The foregoing description is borrowed from Ivanhoe : it leaves 
the tournament at its commencement, but it tells the uninformed 
what a tournament was. All that was proclaimed was done — • 
The strife followed, — some were defeated and some were victori- 
ous — some retired from the field covered with blood and wounds, 
mortified and disgraced ; others went oflf in due time, followed 
by looks of admiration and acclamations of praise. The erown 



' 



ri>&TRY FOB SCHOOLS. Ill 



of that day was the renown of all their days, and the name of the 
Knight was not afterwards mentioned without that of the field 
of his glory. But 

*' The Knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust," 

and all that they did, lives only in the page of the poet. " Their 
% escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of their castles. 
Their castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered 
ruins — the place that once knew them knows them no more — nay, 
many a race since theirs has died out and been forgotten in the 
very land which they occupied, with ah the authority of feudal 
proprietoi s and feudal lords. What then would it avail the reader 
to know their names, of the evanescent symbols of their martial 
rank !" 

Theirs was not true glory. There is another glory, the most 
durable and the most estimable — it is that which follows great 
services rendered to mankind by great goodness and great genius. 
That navigator who gave one half of the world to the other half — 
that poet whom Milton calls, " Dear son of memory, great heir 
of fame" — those defenders of religion who feared not principali- 
ties and powers, but counted their lives cheap, so that they 
showed the truth and established it ,- and that peaceful legislator 
%vho gave his name to the wild woods, and laid the foundation of 
a state, according to the rules of the gospel, have all benefited 
mankind, and inherit true fame. — One by his immortal pen has 
sweetened and gladdened life, and the others by their divers la- 
bours, have relieved men from burthens grievous to be borne. 
— They have taken off fetters from the human understanding, 
have given a wider sphere to human intelligence, and a better di- 
rection to human conduct. 



As was very natural, the ancient warriors held their horses in 
high esteem : they even fancied that this most beautiful of ani- 
mals entered into their feelings, and partook of their glory or their 
irrief. The rider would 



-bestride 



The noble steed as if he felt himself 
In his own proper seat. — Look how he leans 
To cherish him ; and how the gallant horse 
Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head. 



n2 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

As if again to court that gentle touch, 
And answer to the voice that praises him." 
And afterwards upon the spot where his lord might have been 
ylain or conquered, this faithful animal would sometimes be found. 

*' his silver mane 

Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair 
Aspersed like dew drops — trembling th(,re he stood 
From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth 
His tremulous voice, far echoing wide and shrill, 
A frequent anxious cry, with which he seemed 
To call the master whom he loved so well, 
And who had thus again forsaken him." 

These verses of Mr. Southey's describe Orelio, the vvar-Iiorse of 
of Roderick, the last Gothic king of Spain. 

Attachment and admiration for the horse, appear to be almost 
universal. The Hebrew poet, whoever he was who composed 
the book of Job, has given a sublime description of the war- 
horse : 

*' Hast thou given the horse strength ? hast thou clothed his 
neck witii thunder ? Canst thou make him afraid as a grass- 
hopper ? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the 
valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : he goeth on to meet the 
armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither 
turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, 
the glittering spear and the shield. He swal\(»weth the ground 
with fierceness and rage : neither believeth he that it is the sound 
of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha, and he 
smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the 
.'^bouting." 

EXTRACT FROM PALAMON ATv'D ARCITE ' 

" In Athens all was pleasure, mirth and play, 
All proper to the spring, and sprightly May. 

Now scarce the dawning day began to spring, 
As at a signal given, the streets witli clamors ring 
At once the crowd arose ; confused and high 
Even from the heaven was heard a shouting cry. 
The neighing of the generous horse was heard, 
For battle by the busy groom prepared ; 
Rustling of harness ; rattling of the shield ; 
Clattering of armour, furbished for the field. 
Crowds, to the castle, mounted up the street, 



POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. ItS 

Battering the pavement with their courser's feet ; 
The greedy sight might, there, devour the gold 
Of gUttering arms, too dazzling to behold : 
And polished steel that cast the view aside, 
And crested morions, with their plumy pride. 
Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 
In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. 

One laced the helm, another held the lance : 
A third the shining buckler did advance. 
The courser pawed the ground with restless feet 
And, snorting, foamed, and champed the golden bit. 
The smiths and armoers on palfreys ride. 
Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 
And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields provide. 
The yeoman guard Hie streets in seemly bands ; 
And clowns come crowding on with cudgels in their hands. 

The trumpets, next the gate, in order, placed, 
Attend the sign to sound the martial blast ; 
The palare-yard is filTed wth floating tides. 

The throng is in the midst : the common crew 
Shut out, the hall admits the better few ; 
In knots they stand or in a ank they walk, 
Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk : 
Factious, and fav'ring this, or t' other side. 
As their strong fancy, or weak reason guide : 
Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold 
With the fair-freckled king, and beard of gold : 
So vig'rous are his eyes, such rays they cast, 
So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. 
But most their looks on the black monarch bend, 
His rising muscles, and his strength commend : 
His double-biting axe and beamy spear. 
Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
All spoke as partial favor moved his mind : 
And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. 

Waked by the cries, th' Athenian chief arose, 
The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; 
And passing through th' obsequious guards, he satf 
Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state ; 
There, for the two contending knights he sent : 
Armed cap-a-pee, with rev'rence low they bent ^ 
He smiled on both, and with superior lopk 

10^ 



1 1 4 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Alike their offered adoratioR took. 

The people press on every side, to sec 

Their awful prince, and hear his higii decree. 

Then signing to the heralds with his hand, 

They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 

Silence is thrice enjoined ; then thus, aloud, 

The king-at-arms bespeaks the knights, and listening crowd 

' Our sovereign lord has pondered in iiis mind 
The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; 
The keener edge of battle to rebate, 
The troops for honor fighting, nor for hate. 
He wills, not death should terminate the strife ; 
And wounds, should wounds ensue, be short of life : 
But issues, ere the fight, his dread command, 
That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand, 
JBe banished from the field ; that none shall dare ] 
With shortened swords to stab in closer war ; 
But in fair combat fight with manly strength, 
Nor push with biting point, butstrdie at length. 
The tourney is allowed but one career. 
Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear ; 
But knights unhorsed may ri.«e from oflf the plain, 
And fight on foot, their honor to regain ; 
Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground 
Be slain, but pris'ners to the piliar bound, 
At either barrier placed ; nor (captives made) 
Be freed, or armed anew the fight invade. 
The chief of either side, beseft of life, 
Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. 
Thus dooms the lord ! — Now valiant knights, and young 
Fight each his fill, with swords and maces long.' 

The herald ends : the vaulted firmament 
With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : 
* Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, 
So just, and yet so provident of blood !' 
This was the general cry. The trumpets sound j 
And warlike symphony is heard around. 
The marching troops through Athens take their waj^, 
The great earl-marshal orders their array. 
The fair, from high, the passing pomp behold ; 
A rain of flow'rs is from the windows rolled. 
The casements are with golden tissue spread, 
And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken t«ip'8try trend \ 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 11'^ 

Tl/e king goes midmost, and the rivals ride 
In equal rank, and close his either side. 

Next after these, there rode the royal wife. 
With Emily, the cause and the reward of strife. 
The following cavalcade, by three and three. 
Proceed by titles marshaled in degree. 
Thus through the southern gate they take their way, 
And at the list arrived ere prime of day. 
There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide, 
And, wheeling East and West, before their many ride. 
Ah' Athenian monarch mounts his throne on high. 
And, after him, the queen, and Emily : 
Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced 
With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. ^ 

Scarce were they seated, when with clamours loud 
In rushed at once a rude promiscuous crowd. 
Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low. 
As winds forsaking seas more softly blow ; 
When at the western gate, on which the car 
Is placed alott. that bears the God of War, 
Proud Arcite entering armed, before his train, 
Stops at the barrier, and divides the plain. 
Red was his banner, and displayed abroad 
The bloody colours of his patron god.* 

At the self moment enters Palamon 
The gate of Venus and the rising sun ; 
Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies, 
All maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. 
From East to West, look all the world around, 
Two troops go matched were never to be found. 

Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaims 
A silence, while they answered to their names : 
The tale was just, and then the gates were closed ; 
And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. 
The heralds last retired, and loudly cried. 

At this, the challenger, with fierce defy, 
His trumpet sounds, the challenged makes reply i 
With clangor rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 
Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, 
Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest j 



510 poETny for schools, 

Tiiey vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 
And, spurring, see decrease the middle space. 

Full oft the rivals met ; and neither spared 
His utmost force ; and each forgot to ward. 
Both were by turns unhorsed ; the jealous blows 
Fall Uiick and heavy, when on foot they close. 
So deep their faulchions bite, that every stroke 
Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave and took 

So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, 
The swains come armed between, and both to distance driYC 

At length, as fate foredoomed, and all things tend 
By course of time to their appointed end ; 
The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, 
And Palamon with odds was overlaid, 
Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound. 

The royal judge, on his tribunal placed, 
Who had beheld the fight from first to last, 
Bade, ' Cease the war ;' pronouncing, from on high. 
* Arcite of Thebes had won the beautious Emily.' 
The sound of trumpets to the voire replied. 
And round the royal lists the Heralds cried, 
' Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride.* 

The people rend the skies with vast ap" ause ; 
All own the chief, when tbrtime owns the cause." 



The preceding verses nearly agree with the description of a 
tournament, taken from Ivan hoe. Dryden's sc^^ne of the tour- 
nament is Athens. Whether sii-h a spectacle was ever exhibit- 
ed there, is doubtful ; but the earlier English poets did not re- 
gSitd local probability , which, according to the present practice 
of writers of prose or poetic fable, is become mdispensable. A 
few of the expressions used in this description may not be readily 
understood. 

Crested morions^ with their plumy pride. — The morion was the 
cap worn by the Knights, adorned with a plume, and expressing 
in its appearance something of the dignity r»f the wearer. 

The squires in gaudy liveries inarch. — Livery is a dress ap- 
propriated to a particular order of persons. In modern times., 
the dress of men-servants appertaining to a gentleman's family 
is called livery, and is usually only a red, blu§, or ydlow edging 
to (he cape and cuffs of the man's coat. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 117 

Palfreys, travelling horses, of mettle and appearance inferior 
to the war horse. 

Yeomen^ soldiers employed as guards and attendants. The 
rank of the subordinate persons engaged in the private warfare 
of the middle ages is very clearly displayed in the first Canto of 
Scott's Lay : 

" Nine and twenty Knights of fame 
Hung their shields in Branksome hall ; 
Nine and twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall ; 
Nine and twenty Yeonen tall 
Waited duteous on them all. 



-Numbers hold 



With theyaw' freckled King, <fec. 

But most their looks on the black monarch bend. 

These lines express the party feeling with which ihe heroes of 
the tournaments was regarded. It has been remarked, that at 
the commencement of the exercises, the spectators usually gave 
ihQ preference to one or other of the combatants. 

His double biting axe and beamy spear ^ 
Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 

The beamy spear, expresses the high polish of the spears point, 
which reflecte.i the beams or rays of light in every direction. 
The weight of these arms required a gigantic fora to lift them. 
It appears that the active and self-denvjug habits of the Knights 
gave them extraordinary strength, as was the fact in respect to 
the Athletae of antiquity. 

Armed cap a pee — from head to foot. 

King-at-Arms. — An officer employed in ancient pageants to 
announce the pleasure of the presiding prince in respect to the 
order of the ceremonies. The king ai-arms liere declares it is 
the sovereign's will that dangerous weapons be banished from 
the field, and that the stritie shall spare the lives of those engaged 
in it. The combatants seldom had sufficient forbearance to ob- 
serve this prohibition ; and at length, in consequence of the 
numbers killed in them, the Popes suppressed tournaments al- 
together. 

The tourney^ the trial of horsemanship. The dismounted 
Knight was not allowed to repeat the tourney, but might fght on 
foot, his honour to regain. 



US . rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The western gate, on which the car 



Is placed aloft, that bears the god of war. 

The gates which Dryden here describes are adorned whh 
sculpture. Over the western gate is the car of Mars and its ter- 
rible master ; the eastern gate — that of the rising sun, was em- 
bellished by the beautiful figure of Venus. 



BOADICEA. 



Boadicca was queen of the Iceni, a tribe of native Britons. 
When the Romans invaded Britain, they did not at once achieve 
the conquest of that Island. A. D. 60, Boadicea, among other 
of the native princes, resisted the Roman arms, but fighting at the 
head of her subjects, she fell into the hands of the enemy. The 
Romans beat her, and treated her with the most cruel indignities, 
so that at last, in her despair, she put an end to her existence. 
Cowper's verses which follow, describe her, some time before 
her defeat, in her holy purpose of preserving her people from 
their invaders, resorting for direction to a Druid, one of the 
priests of her religion ; and though the venerable man could not 
promise her the deliverance she sought, he predicted for her con- 
solation the downfal of the Roman, and the exaltation of the 
British power. 

** When the British warrior queen, 

Bleeding from the Roman rods, 
Sought with an indignant mien. 

Counsel of her country's gods. 

Sage beneath the spreading oak 

Sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
Ev'ry burning word he spoke 

Full of rage, and full ot grief. 

Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
'Tis because resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongue?. 

Rome shall perish — write that word 

In the blood that she has spilt ; 
Perish hopeless and abhorred, 

Deep in ruins as in guilt. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 119 

Rome, for empire far renowned, 

Tramples on a thousand states ; 
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 

Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 

Other Romans shall arise, 

Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
SoundSy not arms, shall win the prize, 

Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 

From the forests of our land, 
Armed with thunder, clad with wingSj 

Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Caesar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew. 

None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's proptefctic words, 

Pregnant svith celestial fire, 
Bending as he swept the chords 

Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She with all a monarch's pride. 

Felt them in her bosom glow : 
Rushed to battle, fought, and died i 

Dying hurled them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
Empire is on us bestowed, 

Shame and ruin wait for you. 



Sounds not arms shall win the prize— 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Modern Italy exhibits none of the martial spirit, or political 
wisdom of ancient Rome ; but in place of the elevated sentiments 
and great actions recorded of the former inhabitants of Italy, its 
children of our days are distinguished, as much as for any thing, 
by their exeellence in music. This species of excellence, being 



150 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

attended with absolute deficiency in the spirit of liberty, of im- 
provement, and the sentiment of national dignity, is considered 
by the poet as a mark of degeneracy. 

Regions CcBsar never knew 
Thy posterity shall sway. 

This passage intimates the establishment of the British empire 
in America. — The empire of the laws, language, and literature 
of Britain, established m the new world, and under an indepen- 
dent government among the remote descendants of the ancient 
Britons. 

THE DRUIDS. 

The Druids were priests among the Britons, and were exter- 
minated by the Romans. " The religion of the Britons were 
one of the most considerable parts of their government; and the 
Druids, who were guardians of it, possessed great authority among 
tJiem. No species of superstition was ever more terrible than 
theirs ; besides the severe pSfcftkies which they were permitted 
to inflict in this world, they inculcfted the doctrine of transmigra- 
tion of souls, and thus extended their authority as far as the fears 
of their votaries. They sacrificed human victims, which they 
burned in large wicker idols, made so capacious as to contain a 
multitude of persons at once, who were thus consumed together. 
To these rites, tending to impress ignorance with awe, they ad- 
ded the austerity of their manners, and the simplicity of their lives. 
They lived in woods, caves, and hollow trees ; acorns and ber- 
ries constituted their general food, and their usual beverage was 
water. By these arts they were not only respected, but almost 
adored by the people. 

The sacrifice of human victims impbes a horrible religious faith, 
but it does not ap[)ear to be wholly inconsistent with fine quali- 
ties of mind and heart. The sacrifice ofJephtha's daughter, 
mentioned in the Hebrew scriptures, and that of Iphigenia by the 
Greeks, were induced by false notions of God. To give him the 
dearest of our possessions, may seem to ignorant men the most 
acceptable service, and those who were capable of such acts, 
often entertained sentiments of true devotion and humanity. The 
Druids worshipped in the open air ; and there still remain in Eng- 
land, circles of stones laid upon the surface of the ground, which 
it is supposed, enclosed their sanctuaries. The oak was their 
favourite tree, and the misletoe, a parasitic plant, or one which 
^rows upon trees, was used in their ritejs, njad respected as a sym^ 



rOETRY FOR SCIIOOIS. 121 

bol of their faith. Some of the English poets regard the charac- 
ter of the Druids as that of simple-hearted and uncorrupted men, 
fond of contemplating the works of God. 
" In yonder grave a Druid lies," 

says the poet Collins, of Thomson, the author of the Seasons — ^ 
meaning by this expression to suggest the idea of Thompson's 
well-known character — that of a man who saw in God the " pa- 
rent of good," and who considered the "universal frame" of 
creation as the dwelhng place of infinite loveliness and bene- 
ficence. 



Mr. Mason, aclergj^man of the church of England, and an in- 
timate friend of the poet Gray, wrote a drama called Caractatus. 
Caractatus was the last of the British princes who resisted the 
Romans, but in the reign of the Emperor Claudius, he was made 
their prisoner, and carried to Rome. About the same time the 
Romans, though they generally permitted all their conquered sub- 
jects to enjoy their accustomed religion, abolished the worship of 
the Druids. The practice of the Dru. Is of offering human sa- 
crifices, made it just that their rites \s:jould be annihilated. 

In Caractacus, Mr. Mason describes that unfortunate king as 
taking refuge in the sacred groves of the Druids, and being forced 
thence by the Roman soldiers. Mona, an island in the Irish sea, 
was the principal sanctuary of the Druids. 



Vellinus and Elidurus were sons of a British Princess, Cartis- 
mandua, who had been subdued by the Romans. She had deli- 
vered her sons to the Romans as hostages — that is, as security, 
that she would fulfil her promises of contmued submission to the 
conquerors. The Roman officer jo whom the British youths are 
intrusted, promises them their liberty on condition that they will 
discover to him the retreat of the Druids ; and, corrupted by this 
tempting offer, t^iey introduce the stranger into ther secret haunts, 
in which Caractacus and his daughter Evelina had taken refuge, 

OPENING SCENE OF CARACTACUS. 

Aulus DidiuSy a Roman officer with Romans. 
ScenCj Mona. 
Au. Did. This is the secret centre of the isle : 
Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder 
Gaze on the solemn scene ; behold yon oak, 
How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown arms 
n 



J 22 POETKY FOR SCHOOXS. 

Chills the pale plain beneath Tiim : mark yon altar 

The (lark stream brawling round its rugged base, 

These cliffs, these yawning caverns, tins wide circus, 

Skirted with unhewn stone : they awe niy soul, 

As if the very genins of the place 

Himself appeared, and with terrific tread 

Stalked through his drear domain. And yet, my friends 

(If shapes like his be but the fancy's coinage) 

Surely there is a hidden power, that reigns 

' Mid the lone majesty of untamed nature, 

Controlling sober reason ; tell me else, 

Why do these haunts of barb'rous superstition' 

O'ercome me thus? I scorn them, yet they awe uk^ 

Enter Vellinus and Elidurus. 

Ye pledges dear of Cartismandua's faith, 
Approach ! and to mine unmstructed ear 
Explain this scene of horror. 

Elid, Daring Roman, 

^ Know that thou stand'st on consecrated ground 
These mighty piles of magic-planted rock. 
Thus ranged in mystic order, mark the place 
Where but at times of holiest festival 
The Druid leads his train. 

Avl. Did. Where dwells the seer ? 

Vel. In yonder shaggy cav^^J)n which the moojj 
Now sheds a side-long gleam. His brotherhood 
Possess the neighb'ring cliffs. 

Aul Did. Yet up the hill 

Mine eye descries a distant range of caves, 
Delved in the ridges of the craggy steep; 
And this way still another. 

Eld. On the left 

Beside the sages skilled in nature's lore : 
The changeful universe, its numbers, powers. 
Studious they measure, save when meditation 
Gives place to holy rites : then in the grove 
Each hath his rank and function. Yonder grotf? 
Are tenanted by Bards, who nightly thence, 
Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white^ 
Descend, with harps that glitter to the moon. 
Hymning immortal strains. The Spirits of air 
Of earth, of water, nay of heav'n itself, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 123 

V)o listen to their lay ; ana oft, 'tis said, 
In visible shapes dance they a magic round 
To the high minstrelsy. — Now, if thine eye 
Be sated with the view, haste to thy ships, 
And ply thine oars ; for, if the Druids learn 
This bold intrusion, thou wilt find it liard 
To foil their fury. 

Avl, Did. Prince, I did not moor 

My light-armed shallops on this dangerous strand 
To soothe a fruitless curiosity ; 
I come in quest of proud Caractacus ; 
Who, when our veterans put his troops to ilight, 
Found refuge here. 

Elid. If here the monarch rests, 

Presumptuous chief! thou n)ight'st as well essay 
To pluck him from yon stars : Earth's ample range 
Contains no surer refuge : underneath 
The soil we tread, a hundred secret paths, 
Scooped through the living rock in winding maze. 
Lead to as many caverns, dark, and deep: 
In which the hoary sages act their rites 
Mysterious, rites of such strange potency, 
As, done in open day, would dim the sun, 
Though throned in noontide brightness. In such dens ^ 
He may for life lie hid. 



CAPTURE OP CARACTACUS. 

Aulus Didius bursts into the sanctuary of the Druids, with VcK 

linus, Elidurus, and soldiers. 

Druid, Evelina, Bard, and Caractacus. 

Aul. Did. YeVibloody priests, 

Behold we burst on your infernal rites. 
And bid you pause. Instant restore our soldiers, 
Nor hope that superstition's ruthless step 
Shall wade in Roman gore. Ye savage men. 
Did not our laws give license to all faiths. 
We would o'erturn your altars, headlong heave 
These shapeless symbols of your barbarous gods, 
And let the golden sun into your caves. 

Druid. Servant of Caesar, has thine impious tongu.© 
Spent the black venom of its blasphemy ? 
It has. Then take our curses on thine head, 



124 POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ev'n his fell curses, who doth i#^n in Mona, 
Vicegerent of those gods thy pride insults. 

Aul. Did. Bold priest, f sco;n ihy curses, and thysel/". 
Soldiers, go search the caves, and free the prisoners. 
Take heed, ye seize Caraclacus alive. 

Look to the beauteous nnaid, 
Thai tranced in grief, bends j'er you bleeding eorse — 
Reypect her sorrows. 

Evel. Hence, ye barbarous men, 

Ye shal! not take him weltering thus in blood, 
To show at Rome, what British virtue was. 
Avaunt ! the breathless body that ye touch 
Was oncH Arviragus ! 

Aul Did. Fear us not, princess, 

We reverence the dead. 

Druid. Would too to Heaven, 

Ye reverenced the gods but even enough 
Not to debase with slavery's cruel chain 
Whom thev created free. 

Aul. Did The Romans fight 

Not to enslave, but humanize the world. 

Druid. Go to, we will not parley with thee, Roman 
Instant pron< -jnce our doom. 

Aul Did. Hear it, and thank us. 

This once our clemency shall spare your groves, 
If at our call ye yield the British king : 
Yet learn, when next ye aid the foes of Csesar, 
That each old oak, whose solemn gloom ye boast, 
Shall bow beneath our axes. 

Druid. Be they blasted. 

Wherever their shade forgets to shelter virtue ! 

Bard. Mourn, Mona, mourn. Caractacus is captive 
And dost thou smile, false Roman ? Do not think 
He fell an easy prey. Know, ere he yielded. 
Thy bravest veterans bled. He too, thy spy, 
The base Brigantian prince, hath sealed his fraud 
With death. Bursting thro' armed ranks, that hemmed 
The caitiff round, the brave Caractacus 
Seized his false throat ; and as he gave hun death 
Indignant thundered, " Thus is my last stroke 
The stroke of justice." Numbers then opprest him. 
I saw the slave, that cowardly behind 
Pinioned his arms j I saw the sacred sword 



POETKY FOR SCHOOLS. 125 

Writhed from his grasp — I saw, what now ye see, 
Inglorious sight ! those barbarous bonds upon him. 

Car. Romans, methinks the malice of your tyrant 
Might furnish heavier chains. Old as I am, 
And withered as you see these war-worn limbs, 
Trust me, they shall support the weightiest load 

Injustice dares impose — 

Proud crested soldier, [^ToDidiiis. 
Who seemest the master-mover in this business, 
Say, dost thou read less terror on my brow. 
Than when thou meet'st me in the fields of war 
Heading my nations ? No, my free-born soul 
Has scorn still left to sparkle through these eyes. 

And frown defiance on thee Is it thus ! 

\^Seeing his son's body. 
Then I'm indeed a captive. Mighty gods ! 
My soul, my soul submits : patient it bears 
The ponderous load of grief ye heap upon it. • 

Yes, it will grovel in this shattered breast, 
And be the sad tame thing it ought to be, 
Cooped in a feervile body. 

Aul. Did. Droop not, king. 

When Claudius, the great master of the world; 
Shall hear the noble story of thy valour, 
His pity 

Car. Can a Roman pity, soldier ? 
And if he can, gods ! must a IJriton bear it ? 
Arviragus, my bold, my breathless boy, 
Thou hast escaped such pity ; thou art free. 
Here in high Mona shall thy noble limbs 
Rest in a noble grave ; posterity » 

Shall to thy tomb with annual reverence bring 
Sepulchral stones, and pile them to the clouds ; 
Whilst mine 

Aul. Did. The morn doth hasten our departure. 
Prepare thee, king., to go : a fav'ring gale 
Now swells our sails. 

Car. Inhuman that thou art ! 

Dost thou deny a moment for a father 
To shed a few warm tears o'er his dead son . 
I tell thee, chief, this act might claim a life, 
To do it duly ; even a longer life, 
Than sorrow ever suffered. Cruel man I 



226 POETRY FOE SCUOOLff. 

And thou deniest me moments. Be it so. 

I know you Romans weep not for your children ; 

Ye triumph o'er your tears, and tliink it valor ; 

I triumpli in my tears. 

Arise, my daughter. 

Weepest thou, my girl ? I prithee hoard thy learP 
For the s;id meeting of thy captive mother : 
For we have much to tell her, much to say 
Of these t-^ood ujen who nurtured us in Mona ; 
Much of the fraud and malice, that pursued us ; 
Much of her son, uhopour'd his precious blood 
To save his sire and sister : thinkest thou, maid, 
Her gentleness ca/i hear the tale, and live ? 

And yet s'le must.— 

But I'll be mute. Adieu ! ye holy men ; 

Yet one look more — Now lead us hence for ever. 



WARTON. 

Born ll2Q^Di€d 1790. 

Dr. Thomas Warton is best known as a poeticaljantiquary. He 
wrote a '' History of English Poetry," and by his researches and 
criticisms turned the attention of Enjrlish readers in his time from 
the mere perusal of contemporary poets to the neglected authors 
of the filteentli. sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. Dr. War- 
ton is n')t memorable for inventive talent, but he was well ac- 
quainted with the earlier British writers, he admired the ancient 
architecture of his country, and he loved the legends of old ro- 
mance. " His Crusade, and the Grave of Arthur," says Mr. 
Campbell, " h.ave a genuine air of martial and minstrel enthusiasm. 
Those pieces exhibit, to the best advantage, the most striking 
feature of his poetical character, which was a fondness for the 
recollections of chivalry, and a minute intimacy of imagination 
with its gorgeous residences, and imposing spectacles. Dr. War- 
ton may indeed be said to have revived the spirit of chivalry in 
the poetry of modern times." But a genius above the reach of 
Warton's, was destined, in a few years after him, to soar beyond 
the track in which he first r-ssayed his flights. Those who read 
the Grave of Arthur, in order to enhance their estimation of it, 
niU3t, remember that it was written before the Lay of the Last 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 127 

Minstrel, and it is interesting as the precursor of a style of poetic 
composition, which, though somewhat ancient in its subjects, is 
altogether new in its present attractiveness and popularity. 

PRINCE ARTHUR. 

About the beginning of the sixth century, the Romans, who 
had been masters of Britain during four hundred years, withdrew 
from that island, and left the government and defence of the coun- 
try to its native inhabitants. The northern parts of the island be- 
longed to the Scots and Picts, and these barbarous tribes, soon 
after the departure of the Romans, mvaded and ravaged the more 
southern territory 

The British were divided into small independent tribes, each 
governed by its own prince : and these petty sovereigns, in their 
common danger, had not sufficient wisdom to unite in the com- 
mon defence ; though, in seasons of imminent peril, they like the 
ancient Romans, appointed a Dictator invested with supreme 
power over the collective forces of the nation. The British Dic» 
tator was called the Pendragon. He, however could not prevent 
discordant counsels and civil warfare among the mferior chiefs, 
so that the Saxons, who had con e over from Germany as helpers 
of the Britons, easily subjugated them. According to some his- 
torians, though in modern times there are others who deny the 
existence of such a hero, Arthur, the son of Uther, succeeded 
his father as Pendragon about the year 617. His history, as 
generally received, whether it be true or false, is the following. 

Arthur, prince of the Silures, in conjunction with other chiefs, 
his countrymen, resisted the Saxons ; but, though his prowess 
has been celebrated by poets and romance-writers, he was not 
successful against the Saxons. Mordred, a powerful Pictisb 
chief, went over to the enemy, and was victorious against Arthur 
in the battle of Canilan. Arthur, notw'thstandmg he was once 
defeated, renewed the war, and many feats of valour are imputed 
lo him ; but he is said to have been mortally wounded in an en- 
gagement with Mordred, and to have died, and been buried at 
Avalon. The place of his interment is unknown, and Dr. 
Warton has founded a pretty poem upon this disputed fact. 
It is proper here testate, that among the fictions related of Prince 
Arthur is this, that he created a military order called the Knights 
of the Round Table. Of his and their achievments, many mar- 
vellous stories are related. 

Dr. Warton describes a festival of Henry H. king of England, 
as he was about embarking for Ireland. Ireland previous to the 



128 POETRY FOR SCIIOOI^. 

year 1172 liad been divided into five independent kingdonns 
Two kings of Ireland, Dermod, and Roderick O'Connor, had a 
desperate war, and the former came over to England to solicit 
the interference of Henry \l in his behalf. Henry availed him- 
self of this strife to include Ireland i^ his dommions. He first ob- 
tained the gift of that island in a bull from the Pope, who in that 
age claimed the right to dispose of kingdoms ; and tvhen Henr)' 
went over to Ireland with tne Pope's bull, and an army to en"- 
force it, the country was partially surrended to him. 

Henry's army was, as appears, by the poem, attended by a 
company of bards, who entertained tlie king with their songs. 
Just before the embarkation for Ireland, one of the bards is rep- 
resented as celebratmg Prince Arthur, and declaring that the hero 
had been carried away by the enchanter Merlin, and was destin- 
ed to re-appear at a future tune in Britain ; but another of the 
tuneful brethren asserts that no enchanter bore him off the field 
of battle, and demands of the king iu repair to his tomb, and by 
some religious services in lumour of him, pay homage to his de- 
parted glory. 

" It was," says Mr. Gray, *' the common belief of the Welsh 
nation, that king Arthur was still ahve in Fairyland, aed would 
return .and reign again over Britain." 

THE GRAVE OF ^RI^CE ARTHUR. 

Stalely the feast, and high the cheer : 
Girt with many an armed peer. 
And canopied with golden pall, 
Amid Cilgarran's castle hall. 
Sublime in formidable state, 
And warlike splendour, Henry sate ; 
Prepared to stain t'>e briny flood, 
Of Shannon's^ lakes with rebel blood. 

Illumining the vaulted roof, 
A thousand torches flamed aloof; 
From massy cups, with golden pleam 
Sparkled the red metheglin s stream ; 
To grace the gorgeous festival, 

Along the lofty windowed hall 4 

The storied tapestry was hung : 
With minstrelsy the rafters rung 
Of harps, that with reflected light 
From the proud gallery giittered bright; 
While gifted bards, a rival throng, 



POETHY FOR SCHOOLS. 12^ 

To crown the banquets solemn cicse, 
Themes of British glory chose ; 
And to the strings of various chime 
Attempered thus the fabhng rhyme. 

<^ O'er Cornwall's cliffs thetempest roared 
High the screaming sea-mew soared ; 
On TintaggaPs topmost tower 
Darksome fell the sleety shower ; 
Round the rough castle shrilly sung 
The whirhng blast, and wildly flung 
On each tall rampart's thundering side 
The surges of the tumbling tide ; 
When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks 
On conscious Camlan's crimsoned banks : 
By Mordred's faithless guile decreed 
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed ! 
Yet in vain a paynim foe 
Armed with fate the mighty blow : 
For when he fell, an elfin queen, 
All in secret and unseen, 
O'er the fainting hero threw 
Her mantle of ambrosial blue ; 
And bade her spirits bear him farj 
In Merlin's agate-axled car. 
To her green isles enamelled steep, 
Far in the bosom of the deep. 
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew 
From flowers that in Arabia grew ; 
On a rich enchanted bed 
She pillowed his majestic head ; 
O'er his brow, with whispers bland, 
Thrice she waved an opiate wand ; 
And to soft music's airy sound, 
Her magic curtains closed around. 
There, renewed the vital spring, 
Again he reigns a mighty king 
And many a fair and fragrant clime. 
Blooming in immortal prime. 
By gales of Eden ever fann'd, 
Owns the monarchs high command : 
Thence to Britain shall return, 
(If right prophetic rolls I learn) 
Borne on victorv'-s spreading plume, 



1 no rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ilia ancient sceptre to resunne ; 
Once more, in old heroic pride, 
His barbed courser to bestride ; 
His knightly table to restore, 
And brare the tournaments of yore." 

They ceased : when on the tuneful stage 
Advanced a bard of aspect sage ; 
His silver tresses, thin besprent, 
To age a graceful reverence lent ; 
His beard all white as spangles frore 
That clothe Plinhnimon's forest hoar, 
Down to his harp descending flowed : 
With Time's faint rose his features glowed ; 
His eyes diffused a softened fire. 
And thus he waked the warbling wire. 

*' Listen, Henry, to my read ! 
Not from fairy realms I lead 
Bright-robed tradition, to relate 
In forged colours Arthur's laie ; 
Though much of old romantic lore 
On the high theme I keep in store : 
But boastful Fiction should be dumb, 
AVhen truth the strain might best become. 
If thine ear may still be won 
With songs of Uther's glorious son, 
Henry, I a tale unfold, 
Never yet in rhyme enrolled, 
Nor sung nor harped in hall or bower; 
Which in my youth's ful! early flower, 
A minstrel sprung of Cornish line. 
Who spoke of kings fr<j:n old Locrine, 
Taught me to chant, one vernal dawn, 
Deep in a cliff-encircled lawn. 

*' When Arthur bowed his haughty crest, 
No pricess, veiled in azure vest, 
Snatched him, by Merlin's potunt spell, 
In groves of golden bliss to dweU ; 
Where crowned with wreatlis of misletoe, 
Slaughtered kings In glory go : 
But when he fell, with winged speed 
His champions, on a milk white steed, 
From the battle's hurricane, 
Bore him to Joseph's towered fune, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 15! 

In the fair vale of A vaion : 
There, with chanted orison, 
And the long blaze of tapers clear^ 
The stoled fathers met their bier ; 
Through the dim isles, in order dread 
Of martial wo, the chief they led. 
And deep entombed in holy ground. 
Before the altar's solemn bound 

Around no dusky banners wave, 
No mouldering trophies mark the grave ; 
Away the ruthless Dane has torn 
Each trace that Time's slow touch had worn ; 
And long, o'er the neglected stone, 
Oblivion's veil its shade had thrown : 
The faded tomb, with honour due, 
' Tis thine, O Henry, to renew ! 
Thither, when conquest has restored 
Yon recrent isle, and sheathed the sword. 
When peace with palm has crowned thy brows 
Haste thee to pay thy piigrim vows. 
There observent of my lore, 
The pavement's hollowed depth explore ; 
And thrice a fathom underneath 
Dive into the vaults of death. 

There shall thine eye, with wild amaze. 
On his gigantic stature gaze : 
There shalt thou find the monarch laid, 
All in warrior-weeds arrayed ; 
Wearing in death his helmet-crown, 
And weapons huge of old renown. 
Martial prince, 'tis thine to save 
From dark oblivion Arthur's grave ! 
So may thy ships secureiy stem 
The western firth : thy diadem 
Shine victorious in the van, 
Nor heed the slings of Ulster's clan ; 
Thy Norman pikemen win their way 
Up the dun rocks of Harrald's bay ; 
And from the steeps of rough Kildare 
Thy prancing hoofs the falcon scare : 
So may thy bow's unerring yew 
Its shafts in Roderick's heart imbrue." 

Amid the pealing symphony 
The spiced goblets mantled high ; 



13£ rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

With passions new the song impressed 

The listening king's impatient breast; 

Flash the keen lightnings from his eyes ; 

He scorns a while his old emprise ; 

E'en now he seems, with eager pace 

The consecrated floor to trace, 

And ope, from its tremendous gloom. 

The treasure of the wondrous tomb : 

E'en now he burns in thought to rear, 

From its dark bed, the ponderous spear 

Rough with the gore of Pictish kings : 

E'en now fond hope his fancy wings, 

To poise the monarchs massy blade, 

Of magic tempered metal made ; 

And drag to day the dinted shield 

That felt the storm of Camlan's field. 

O'er the sepulchre profound j 

E'en now, with arching sculpture crowned, 1 

He plans the chantry's choral shrine, 

The daily dirge and rites divine. 



' The treasure of the wonderous tomh, &lc. — Henry longed to 
possess the spear, sword and shield of Arthur, from a supersti- 
tious belief that these relics of a hero would aid him in his warlike 
cnterprizes. This superstition was not peculiar to Henry ; it 
seems to be common among religious princes of the Catholic 
faith. A similar circumstance is recorded of King Don Alphon- 
so, the last Spanish King of that name. He sent to the tomb of 
the CiD, a renowned hero of Spain, for the cross which that war- 
rior was accustomed to wear when he went to battle, and had it 
made into one for himself, " because of the faith which he had, 
that through it, (by means of some mysterious operation of it) 
he should obtain the victory." 

' His barbed courser, &c. The horses used in European wars 
before the discovery ofgunpower, were sometimes defended by 
a harness of mail. — Barbed courser signifies a horse thu? capar- 
isotied, or arrayed. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. . 13' 



MRS. HBMANS. 



This lady is among the most eminent of living writers. She 
resides in England, but her poetry is exceedingly admired in this 
country. Piety, various knowledge, elegant taste, and great 
sweetness and power of expression, with fervent and tender afrec= 
tions, are the characteristics of Mrs. Heman's poetic genius. 

BURIAL OF WILLLA.M THE CONQUEROR. 

Mrs. Hemans has taken the subject of these verses from Sis- 
mondi's Historie des Francais, a book not accessible to me, bu(. 
the verses are in themselves so clear and picturesque, that they 
need little illustration. 

William, the conqueror of England, was a French prince, ^ 
Duke of Normandy, and he had no humane feeling for his subjects 
in any part of his dominions. In England he depopulated a con- 
siderable tract of country, and caused it to remain uncultivated 
us a hunting ground. This was thenceforward called the New 
Forest. When they interfered with his pleasure, William had as 
little respect for the rights of his French as for his British sub- 
jects. He was thrown from his horse, and died in consequence, 
in his 64th year. He was interred at Caen in Normandy. The 
s-ircumstances of his interment are finely told by Mrs. Hemans : 

*' Lowly upon his bier 

The royal conqueror lay, 
Baron and chief stood near 

Silent in war-array. 

Down the long minster's aisle, 

Crowds mutely gazing streamed. 
Altar and tomb, the while, 

Through mists of insense gleamed : 

And by the torch's blaze 

The stately priest had said 
High words of power and praise. 

To the glory of the dead. 

They lowered him, with the sound 

Of requiems, to repose, 
When from the throngs around 

A solemn voice arose : 
12 



134 rOETRY FOR SCHOOt? 

' Forbear, forbear !' it cried, 
' In the holiest name forbear ! 

He hath conquered regions wide, 
But he shall not slumber there. 

' By the violated hearth 

Which made way for yon proud shrine. 
By the harvests vvhicli this earth 

llath borne to me and mine; 

* By the home ev'n here o'erthrown. 

On my children's native spot, — 
Hence ! with his dark renown 
Cumber our birth-place not! 

* Will my sire's unransomed field 

O'er which your censers wave, 
To the buried spoiler yield 
Soft slumber in the grave ? 

' The tree before him fell 

Which we cherished many a year 

But its deep root yet shall swell 
And heave against his bier. 

» The land that I have tilled, 
Hath yet its brooding breast 
AVith my home's white ashes filled— 
And it shall not give him rest. 

* Here each proud column's bed 

Hath been wet by weeping eyes, — 
Hence ! and bestow your dead 

Where no wrong against him cries T 

Shame glowed on each dark face 
Of those proud and steel-girt men. 

And they bought with gold a place 
For their leader's dust e'en thenv 

A little earth for him 

Whose banner flew so far ! 

And a peasant's tale could dim 
The nam^, a Djition's star ! 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^^ 



One deep voice thus arose 

From a heart which wrongs had riven— 
Oh ! who shall number those 

That were but heard in Heaven ?" 

This sc-ne is very impressive.-While the body of William lies 
a on'of t oso sple'ndid and spacious churches called .m.^ 
nr cathedrals and vast numbers crowd mto the aisles to witnes. 
tletne^ a^^^^^^ censers pour forth the. fragrance, 

and lamps their streaming light upon barons -"^.^^^^^'f ™' 
Assembled around their dead lord-and the reqman, or solemn 
Tymn for the dead, resounds from the vaulted roofs-at the mo- 
arch is lowered mto h.s last bed, an mjured peasant, m behali 
of others who have suffered like oppressions with himself, de- 
mands that the spoiler shall not slumber there; and in conse- 
^aence of this daring and awful remonstrance, the king s atten- 
dant, are obliged to purchase a grave lor him in another place. 

I has already been remarked that WiUiam of Normandy, 
among other acts of arbitrary power which he committed in En- 
gland depopulated a considerable tract of this country. He dc- 
stroved the villages, with the churches and enclosures, and chang- 
ed a cultivated region to a wilderness, that it might ^erve there- 
after for his recreation merely. Mr. Pope, early in the eighteenth 
cen^^^^^^^^ his poem of Windsor Forest, describes the beauty 
rnr™rityo?that part of England m the reign of Queen 
Anne^ and contrasts that happy state, with the wretchedness ot 
Britain under her former tyrants. 

" Not thus the land appeared in ages past, 
A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste, 
To savage beasts and savage laws a prey, 
And kings more furious and severe than they ; 
Who claimed the skies, dispeopled air and floods, 
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods : 
Cities laid waste, they stormed the dens and caves 
(For wiser brutes were backward to the slaves.) 
What could be free, when lawless beasts obeyed, 
And e'en the elements a tyrant swayed ? 
In vain kind seasons swelled the teeming grain, 
Soft showers distilled, and suns grew warm in vain : 
The swain with tears his frustrate labour yields, 
\Gd famished dies amidst his ripened fields. 



136 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Wheat wonder then, a beast or subject slain 
Were equal crimes in a despotic reign ? 
Both, doomed alike, for sportive tyrants bled ; 
But, that the subject starved, the beast was (ed. 

Proud Nimrod first the bloody chase began, 
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man : 
Our haughty Norman boasts that barbarous name. 
And makes his trembling slaves the royal game. 
The fields are ravished from th' industrious swains. 
From men their cities, and fi-om gods their fanes : 
The levelled towns with weeds lie covered o'er ; 
The hollow winds through naked temples roar ; 
Round broken columns clasping ivy twjned ; 
O'er heaps of ruins stalks the stately hind : 
The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires, 
And savage bowlings fill the sacred quires. 
Awed by his nobles, by his commons curst, 
Th' Oppressor ruled tyrannic where he durst ; 
Stretched o'er the poor and church his iron rod, 
And served aRke his vassals and his God. 

Whom e'en the Saxon spared, and bloody Dane. 
The wanton victims of his sport remain. 
But see, the man who spacious regions gave 
A waste for beasts, himself denied a grave ! 
Stretched on the lawn his second hope survey, * 
At once the chaser, and at once the prey : 
Lo ! Rufus tugging at the deadly dart, 
Bleeds in the forest like a wounded hart. 
Succeeding monarchs heard the subjects' cries, 
Nor saw displeased the peaceful cottage rise. 
Then gathering flocks on unknown mountains fed, 
O'er sandy wilds were yellow harvests spread ; 
The forests wondered at th' unusual grain, 
And secret transport touched the conscious swain. 
Fair Liberty, Britannia's goddess, rears 
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years." 



A beast or subject slain were equal crimes. This alludes to 
the circumstance, that WiUiam's subjects were forbidden to kill 
wild animals which should be found in the New Forest ; and 
that the punishment which the law inflicted upon him who took 
the life of a man, was no greater than that, to which he who 
should kill a hare or a rabbit, was liable. 



POETRY FOR SCHGOXS. ^31 

Stretched on the lawn his second hope survey, Slc. The sons 
of William I. were peculiarly unfortunate. William Rufus, who 
succeeded his father, was accidentally killed in the New Forest ; 
and Robert, the eldest son, was deprived of the Duchy of Nor- 
mandy by his brother Henry I. This cruel brother afterwards 
caused Robert's eyes to be put out, and kept him a prisoner at 
Cardiff castle in Wales twenty years. 



THE CRUSADES. 

The crusades were religious wars. After the death of Christ, 
the Romans were masters of Jerusalem and of the whole coun-^ 
try which had been the scene of his life and labours. Near the 
middle of the fourth century, the Roman Empire became par- 
tially Christian, and Helena, the mother of Constantino, took 
upon herself to identify the very spot at Jerusalem •* where the 
Lord lay,*' and also to erect churches and other monuments on 
the places consecrated by his living actions After the erection 
of these edifices, and the establishment of convents in the Holy 
Land, as Palestine began to be called, religious persons from 
different countries of Europe thought it a duty to make journeys 
thither, in order to visit the shrine? or sacred buildings, which 
had been raised in honor of Christ. These pious travellers 
were called Pilgrims, and their journey was a Pilgrimage. 

The pilgrims chiefly begged their way through the countries 
over which they travelled, and were regarded with respect by all 
Christians. They usually dressed in a plain garb, carried a scrip^ 
or bag for their food, and sustained themselves upon a staff sur- 
mounted by a cross, and had fastened to the front of their hats 
a scallop shell. When they returned from the Holy Land they 
frequently brought with them a branch of pa/m, a tree of that 
■country, whence they were called Palmers, 

Spenser describes a Palmer thus : 

" A silly man in simple weeds foreworn, 
And soiled with dust of the long dried way ; 
His sandals were with toilsome travel torn, 
And face all tanned with scorching sunny ray. 
As he had travelled many a summer's day 
Through burning sands of Araby and Inde ; 
And in his band a Jacob's staff, to stay 
12* 



J38 



POETRY FOR ECHOOtS 



His weary limbs upon ; and eke behind 
His scrip did hang, in which his needments he did bind.-'' 
Faery Queen^ Book I. Canto 6. 

Persons who wished to conceal their real name and business, 
when they engaged in some dangerous undertaking, would as- 
sume a Palmer's habit, because in that disguise they were sure of 
being admitted any where, and of being well treated among Chris- 
tians. In the seventh century, the Saracens, followers of Mahomet, 
took Palestine and occupied the land. Abhorrence of Christians is 
among the principles of the Mahommedan rehgion ; and the Sara- 
cens took every opportunity, by the abuse of its zeah)us profes- 
sors, the Pilgrims, to shew their contempt for the religion of 
Christ. These deluded men suffered all manner of indignities 
from the Mahommedans, but at length princes, nobles, and all 
classes of fanatics in Europe, thought it their duty to leave their 
homes, and their nearer obligations, in order to punish the In- 
Jidels for their cruelties to the Pilgrims, and to tear from their 
sacrilegious hands the holy places. 

Vast armies were fitted out by different princes, and from A. 
D. 1097 to A. D. 1248, about one hundred and fifty years, four 
different Crusades were undertaken. More than two millions ot 
men, from England and southern Europe, are supposed to have 
inarched into Asia upon these expeditions, and the greater num- 
ber lost their hvcs. These wars were called Crusades, from the 
circumstance that a figure of the cross was the badge of these 
warriors — it was painted upon their banners, engraved on their 
shields, and embroidered in their garments. 

RICHARD CCEUR DB LION. 

The most distinguished of those saints-errant who led the Cru- 
sades, was Richard I. King of England, called Coeur de Lion., 
or the lion-hearted, because of his fearless and warlike disposi- 
tion. Richard engaged in the third of these expeditions, A. D. 
1190: Dr. Warton has celebrated his voyage to the Holy Land 
in the subjoined ode. It is an animated and interesting picture. 

THE CRUSADE. 

Bound for holy Palestine, 
Nimbly we brushed the level brine, 
^ All in azure steel arrayed : 
O'er the wave our weapons played. 
And made the dancing billows glow : 
High upon the trophied prow, 



roSlTRY FOR SCHOOIS. 131* 

Many a warrior-minstrel swung 

His sounding harp, and boldly sung : 

" Syrian virgins, wail and weep, 

English Richard ploughs the deep 1 

Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy, 

From distant towers, with anxious eye. 

The radiant range of shield and lance 

Down Damascus' hills advance : 

From Sion's turrets as afar 

Ye ken the march of Europe's war ! 

Saladin, thou paynim king. 

From Albion's isle revenge we bring ! 

On Aeon's spiry citadel. 

Though to the gale thy banners swell 3 

Pictured with the silver moon ; 

England shall end thy glory soon ! 

In vain to break our firm array, 

Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray i 

Those sounds our rising fury fan : ^ 

English Richard m the van, 

On to victory we go, 

A vaunting infidel the foe." 

Blended led the tuneful band, 
And swept the wire with glowing hand. 
Cyprus, from her rocky mound, 
And Crete, with piny verdure crowned. 
Far along the smiling main 
Echoed the prophetic strain. 

Soon we kissed the sacred earth 
That gave a murdered Saviour birth ; 
Then, with ardour fresh endued. 
Thus the solemn song renewed : 
*' Lo, the toilsome voyage past, 
Heaven's favoured hills appear at last I 
Object of our holy vow. 
We tread the Tyrian vallies now. 
From Carmel's almon-shaded steep '^ 
We feel the cheering fragrance creep. 
O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm 
Waves the date-empurpled palm. 
See Lebanon's aspiring head ; 
Wide bis immortal umbrage spread l 



I'fO rOETBY TOR SCHOOL?. 

ilail, Calvary, thou mountain hoarj 

Wet with our Redeemer's gore ! 

Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn, 

Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn : 

Your ravished honours to restore, 

Fearless we climb your hostile shore ! 

And thou, the sepulchre of God I 

By mocking pagans rudely trod, 

Bereft of every awful rite. 

And quenched thy lamps that beamed Sebright ; 

For thee, from Britain's distant coast, 

Lo, Richard leads his faithful host ! 

Aloft in his heroic hand. 

Blazing, like the beacon's brand, 

O'er the far affrighted fields. 

Resistless Kaliburn he wields. 

Proud Saracen, pollute no more 
The shrines by martyrs built of yore ! 
From each wild mountain's trackless crown 
In vain thy gloomy castles frown : 
Thy battering engines, huge and high, 
In vain our steel-clad steeds defy ; 
And, rolling in terrific state, 
On giant wheels harsh thunders grate. 
When eve has hushed the buzzing camp. 
Amid the moonlight vapours damp, 
Thy necromantic forms, in vain, 
Haunt us on the tented plain : ^ 

We bid these spectre-shapes avaunt, 1 

\ Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt ! 
With many a demon, pale of hue, 
Doomed to drink the bitter dew 
That drops from Macon's sooty tree, 
Mid the dread grove of ebony. 
Nor magic charms, nor fiends of hell, 
The Christian's holy courage quell. 

£alem, in ancient majesty 
Arise, and lift thee to the sky ! 
Soon on thy battlements dirine 
Shall wave the badge of Constantine. 
^e Barons, to the sun unfold 
Our Cross with crimson wove and golii" 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 141 

AV in azure steel arreted. This alludes to the armour, which 
consisted sometimes of vvhat is called chain mail, and sometimes 
o^ scale mail— the former was the hauberk, a garment composed 
of interlaced rings of metal, which covered the person— the atter 
was formed of scales of steel, attached to some flexible substance 
fitted to the body. The sieel armour sometimes exhibited a blue 

^^The trophied prow. Prow, the head of a ship— that part which 
advances first in the water. It is usually ornamented with some 
carved figure, intended to represent the dignity of the nation to 
which the ship belongs, or some circumstance of the enterprizc 
in which it is engaged. Trophies are emblems of military prow- 
ess. Richard was a king-a man of great hardihood, enthusi- 
asm, and national pride— his vessels were, doubtless, embellished 
by figures which indicated his sense of the glory of Britain, and 
the importance of the adventure before him. 

Many a warrior minstrel &c. The ancient minstrels were 
poets who composed extempoie verses, and sung them to the 
music ofthe harp, which they played themselves The minstrels 
were common attendants of princes and nobles ofthe middle ages, 
and were maintained by them-they usually commanded great 
respect and attention wherever they went The mimstrels in 
Warton's ode, bid the Syrian virgins dread English Richara, and 
the watchmen on the walls of Jerusalem to tremble, as the ranks 
of his soldiers with their shining shields and lances shall descend 
from the city of Damascus. They also threaten Saladin, the 
Saracen prince, that his glories shall soon be terminated, and that 
his triumphant banners, adorned by the badge of ^V^ Mussulman 
faith— ^&€ silver moon, or figure ofthe cresceDt— shall fall belore 
the British conqueror. 



-the sepvichre of God ! 



By moching Pagans rudely trodj 
Bereft of every awful rite. 
And quench' d thy lamps that beam'd so bright. 
The Saracens, when they got possession of the Holy City, 
abolished the rehgious ceremonies which the Latin Christians had 
instituted, and extinguished the lamps which the Empress Helena 
had ordered to be kept continually burning. 

The minstrel goes on to sing that the fortifications of the bar- 
acens have no terrors for the English— that neither their batterings 
rams, nor any of the engines used in war before the discovery ol 
gunpowder, nor the sorceries and charms, the phantoms andcr?/ 



id 2 i'OliTllY rOR SCHOOLS. 

ifpirits, conjured up to harm the Christians, could diminish their 
confidence in the God of their trust. He then apostrophizes 
"Salem,"' (Jerusalem,) and would encourage tliis daughter of 
^ion, as this city is sometimes fijjuratively called, that she should 
again be restored to the Lord's heritage, and that the badge of 
Constantlne shouM soon wave on her battlement, as a token that 
the Christians had rescued her from the Infidel. This " badge 
of Constantine,'- was the sign of the Cross. Constantine caused 
the Cross to be painted on the standards borne by his armies. 

Blondcl ltd the tuneful hand, <fec. Richard cultivated poetry. 
Some of the Provincea! Poets, called Troubadours, had been in- 
vited from France to England before Richard s time, and had 
continued to be patronized in England. While Richard was ab- 
sent in the holy wars, which was almost ten years, his brother 
John endeavoured to ingratiate himseli with the English nation, 
and when Richard learned this, he set out on his return to Eng- 
land, but while he was m Palestine, some disaffection had arisen 
between him and the monarchs allied with him — these were the 
king of France and the emperor of Germany — and being ship- 
wrecked in his voyage home, he was taken by thfe emperor, and 
made a prisoner in Germany. After more than a year a ransom 
was paid for him, and he was permitted to go to England. A fa- 
ble concerning Blondel is so often alluded to, that it may be use- 
ful to relate it in this place. 

After Richard's imprisonment in Germany, " a whole year 
elapsed before the English knew where their monarch was cou- 
fined. Blondel de Nesle, Richard's favourite French minstrel, 
resolved to find out his lord ; and after travelling niany days with- 
out success, at last came to a castle where Richard was detain- 
ed. Here he found that the castle belonged to the Duke of Aus- 
tria, and that a king was there imprisoned. Suspecting that the 
prisoner was his master, he found means to place himself directly 
before the window of the chamber where the king was kept ; and 
in this situation began to sing a French chanson which Richard 
and Blondel had formerly written together. When the king heard 
the song he knew it was Blondel who sung it ; and when Blondel 
paused after the firat half of the song, the king began the other 
half and completed it. Blondel then returned to England, ac- 
fiuainted the people with his discovery, and Richard was in duo 
time liberated."" 



POETRY FOR SCHOOIS. 



JOANNA BAILLIE. 



This distinguished ,voman is still living . f « ^f }!= '™=^^^if 

John H--^Vth:tnTorEr^-d. Tne fS^^^',^- 
TmS^actitn^rfof h^"lt ; but her consanguinity to 
theSi men of genius reflects no more honour upon her than the r 
relatioSp to her does upon them. If there .s any honourable 
nrde in family connexions, it is in the self complacency w nch«e 
derive fror he fact that one of the same race with ourselves has 
shTdtorrupon all of our blood, by the splendour of acknowl- 

"^MfssSie is chiefly known as a dramatic author. Her plays 
are not we adapted to\he pubhc taste of this age, but aboundmg 
Lwahlv noetic passages, they are admired by readers of the fin- 
est taste ^ S VValtlr'scott, Lord Byron, and many others of the 
most gifted minds, have loved to celebrate Joanna Ba^lhe. &. 
Walter Scott sajs, Shakspeare's 

" harp had silent hung, 

Bv silver Avon's holy shore, ^ 

Till twice a hundred years roll'd o er. 
When she, the hold Enchantress, came, 
With fearless hand and heart on flame. 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure, 
And swept it with a kindred measure. 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Monfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakened at the inspiring stram, ^^ 

Dreamed their own Shakspeare lived agam. 
Basil and Montfort are heroes of Miss BaiUie's Ingei^es. 
On ho death of Edward IV. King of England, their uncle R.clr 
ard duke of Gloucester, was made protector of the young kmg 
and his brother. Richard first imprisoned the princes and af- 
terwards caused them to be assassinated. M.ss Bailhe has made 
he confinement of these princes a subject of poetry, andUie sub- 
lied extracts from one of her dramas are peculiarly affecting. 
PBIHCE EDWARD alom in prison. 
" Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven 
In all his beauteous robes of fleckered clouds, 
And ruddy vapours, and deep glowing flames 
And softly varied shades, look gloriously ? 
DX) fte greenwoods diiBce tot hewmd ? the hfes 



144 rOETRY FOR SCUOOLS. 

Cast up their sparkling waters to the light ? 

Do the sweet hamlets in their bushy dells 

Send winding up to heaven their curling smoke 

On the soft morning air ? 

Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound 

In antic happiness ? and mazy birds 

Wmg the mid air in lightly skimming bands ? 

Aye, all this is ; men do behold all this ; 

The poorest man. E'en in this lonely vault, 

My dark and narrow world, oft I do hear 

The crowing of the cock so near my wall, 

And sadly think how small a space divides me 

From all this fair creation. 

From the wide spreading bounds of beauteous nature 
I am alone shut out ; I am forgotten. 
Peace, peace ! He who regards the poorest worm, 
Still cares for me. — Perhaps, small as these walls, 
A bound unseen divides my dreary state 
From a more beauteous world ; that world of souls : 
Feared and desired by all ; a veil unseen 
Which soon shall be withdrawn. 
The air feels chili ; methinks it should be night, 
I'll lay me down ; perchance kind sleep will come, 
And open to my view an inward world 
Of garnish'd fantasies, from which nor walls, 
Nor bars, nor tyrant's power can shut me out." 

PRINCE EDWARD Oud Ms KEEPER. 

Ed, What brings thee now ; it surely cannot be 
The time of food : my prison hours are wont 
To fly more heavily. 

Keep It is not food : I bring wherewith, my lord, 
To stop a rent in these old walls, that oft 
Hath grieved me, when I've thought of you of nights ; 
Thro' it the cold wind visits you. 

Ed. And let it enter ! it shall not be stoped. 
Who visits me besides the winds of heaven ? 
AVho mourns with me but the sad-sighing wind ? 
Who bringeth to mine ear the mimicked tones 
Of voices once beloved and sounds long past, 
But the light-winged and many voiced wind ? 
Who fans the prisoner's lean and fevered cheek 
As kindly as the monarch's wreathed brows 



1 1 ' 
POETRY FOR SCHOOI^. * i 



But the free piteous wind ? 

I will not have it stopped. ^ 

Kee?? My lord, the winter now creeps on apace . 
Hoar frost this morning on our sheltered fields 
Lay thick, and glanced to the up-risen sun, 
Which scarce had power to melt it. 

Ed. Glanc'd to the up-nsen sun ! Ay, such fair morns'. 

When every bush doth put its glory on, 

Like a gemmed bride ! your rustics now 

And early hinds, will set their clouted feet 

Tliro' silver webs, so bright and finely wrought 

As royal dames ne'er fashioned, yet plod on 

Their careless way, unheeding. 

Alas, how many glorious things there be 

To look upon ! Wear not the forests, now. 

Their latest coat of richly varied dyes ' 
X Yes.n.y good lord, the cold chill year advance. 

Therefore I pray you, let me close that wall. 
£ritellthUno,rnan; if the north a.r bites. 

Brine me a cloak. Where is thy dog to day ? 
■ Keep. Indeed I wonder that he came not with me 

"'^ £d. Brrg him, I pray thee, when thou com'st again. 
He wags his tail and looks ap to my face 
With the assured kindliness of one 
Who has not injured me. 



SIR WAITER SCOTT. 

It has been said to be a happy circumstance for us of *e nine- 
teenth century, that we live in ^^e age of the author of Waverly 
At the time this remark was made, the author of ^f «f'y ^a^ 
wiknown For more than ten years the press at Edinburgh sent 
brth a succession of novels, which entertained the whole reading 
world. Waverly was the first of these charming books, and the 
InLv studiously concealed himself from the curiosity of th^ pub- 
lic The author of Waverly was rightly surpected to be Walter. 



13 



J 46? POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Scott. About the year 1805, the Lay of the Last Minsfrel wasP 
published. This poem was acknowledged to be the productior* 
of Mr. Scott. He is a native of Scotland, curious in the anti^ 
quities of that country, and has long been known for his researchesh 
into Scottish poetry, for his talent of general criticism, and his 
poetic invention. 

After the publication of the Lay, Scott wrote Marmion, and 
several other metrical romances of extraordinary beauty. The 
novels before mentioned bear many resemblances to the poems, 
and on these resernblances was founded the presumption that the 
jpoet was also the novelist. All conjecture upon this subject has 
been put at rest, by the declaration of Sir Walter Scott that he is 
in truth, the author of Waverly. 

This same poet has with much propriety been compared with 
Shakspeare. " Shakspeare," says Mr. Campbell, " lived in an 
age within the verge of chivalry, an age overflowing with chival- 
rous and romantic reading ; he was led by his vocation to have 
daily recourse to that kind of reading ; he dwelt on the spot which 
gave him constant access to it, and was in habitual intercourse 
■with men of genius." 

Sir Walter Scott has lived now that the " age of chivalry is 
gone ;" but his country overflows with romantic reading and tra- 
ditions^ and his genius seems to have taken its inspirations and 
the subjects of invention chiefly from these sources — from the 
states of society, the character and sentiments of men of various 
ranks, as they are resorded to have existed under tiie influences of 
thefeudal system, and the times immediately succeeding. Like 
Shakspeare, he has the talent, each change of many-coloured life 
to draw, to move laughter and to excite tears. The parallelism 
between these great men, however, applies rather to the attributes 
of their genius than to their condition in life. Mediocrity of for- 
tune, and a moderate estimate of his talents, was all tlie outward 
meed awarded to Shakspeare by his contemporaries. 

Homer says of poets, they are regarded as divine beings, " far 
as the sun displays his vital fire." — But few poets have the hap- 
piness to live in the " blaze of their fame" as Scott has done. — 
Wherever English is read, there the poems and the novels of 
the immortal Northern Minstrel arc known, and from every 
region where they are known, the tribute of praise and 
admiration is offered to him. On the accession of George IV. 
the present king of England, (1820) one of the first acts of his 
reign was to bestow on Mr. Scott the rank of baronet, and he has 
since been known as Sir Walter Scott. The pecuniary profit 
1 



rOETIlY FOU SCHOOLS. S47 

^faived to him from his works has been great, and the distinguish- 
ed minds of his time have looked up to him as the first of hving 
men. 

The Lay of the Last Minstrel consists of a tale in verse, sup- 
posed to be recited by a wandering minstrel who took refuge in. 
the castle of Anne, Dutchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, rep- 
resentative of the ancient lords of Buccleuch, and widow of the 
unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in 
2685. 

The minstrel recites to the Dutchess, and her ladies, a story of 
her ancestors. 

THE LAST MINSTREL. 

*' The way ".vas long, the wind was cold; 
The minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His withered cheek, and tresses gray. 
Seemed to have known a better day : 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the bards was he, 
Who sung of border chivalry. 
For, well-a-day ! their date was fled., 
His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 
And he, neglected and oppressed, 
Wished to be with them and at rest. 
No more, on prancing palfrey bone^ 
He caroird hght as lark at morn ; 
No longer courted and caressed, 
High placed in hall, a welcome guest j 
He poured to lord and lady gay, 
The unpremeditated lay : 
Old times were changed, old manners gone r 
A stranger filled the Stuart's throne ; 
The bigots of the iron time 
Had call'd his harmless art a crime. 
A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor, 
He begg'd his bread from door to door ; 
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 
The harp, a king had loved to hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower; 
The minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigh. 



i 48 rOETRT FOR SCHOOLS' 

With hesitating step at last, 
Tiie embattled portal-arch he passed, 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war. 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Dutchess marked his weary pace, 
His timid mein, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell, 
That they should tend the old man well : 
For she had known adversity, 
Though born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb 

When kindness had his wants supplied, 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 
Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone, 
And of Earl Walter, rest him God ! 
A braver never to battle rode : 
And how full many a tale he knew, 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; 
And, would the noble Dutchess deign 
To listen to an old man s strain, 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, 
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak. 
That, if she loved the harp to hear. 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtained j 
The aged Minstrel audience gained. 
But when he reached the room of state, 
Where she, with all her ladies, state. 
Perchance he wished his boon denied : 
For when to tune his harp he tried, 
His trembling hand had lost the ease, 
Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to tune his harp in vain. 
The pitying Dutchess praised its chime, 
And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
Till every string's according glee 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS* ' 'i-^' 



Was blended into harmony. 

And then, he said, he would full fain 

He could recall an ancient strain. 

He never thought to sing again. 

It was not framed for village churls, 

But for high dames and mighty earls ; 

He had played it to king Charles the Good; 

When he kept court in Holyrood j 

And much he wished^ yet feared, to try 

The long-forgotten melody^ 

Amid the strmgs his fingers strayed, 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And oft he shook bis hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild, 
The old man raised his face, and smiled ; 
And lightened up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstacy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords along i 
The present scen«, the future lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot :. 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank, in faithless memory void. 
The poet's glowing thought supplied ; 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung.'* 



Of good Earl Francis, 6i,c. Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleucli. 
'father of the Dutchess. 

And of Earl Walter, &c. Walter, Earl of Buccleucb, gracii- 
^ther to the Dutchess, and a celebrated warrior. 



«' Hushed is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age, 
To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
No : — close beneath proud Newark's towerj 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ^ 
A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The little garden hedged with green, 
"fh^ cheerful hearth^ and lattice cleaa, 
13* 



60 POETRY Ton SCHOOLS 

There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze. 
Oft heard the tale of oiher diiys ; 
For much he loved to ope his door, 
And give the aid he begged before. 
So passpd the winter's day ; but still, 
When summer smiled on sweet Bovvhil]^ 
And July's eve, with balmy breath, 
Waved the blue- bells on Newark heath ; 
When throstles sung in Hare-head shaW; 
And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
And flourished, broad, Blacandro's oak; 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Then would he sing achievements high. 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.'' 



IMrROVISATORI. 

From the beginning of the seventeenth century, minstrelsy 
went out of practice in Britain, but in Italy the recitation of ex- 
temporary poetry still constitutes a popular amusement. 

About sixty years ago Benjamin West, a native of Ame- 
rica, went to Rome to study the art of painting. His biographer, 
Mr. Gait, relates the manner in which this celebrated artist was 
once entertained by an Improvisatore, one of the extemporane- 
ous Italian poets. 

*' One night, soon after his arrival in Rome, Mr. Gavin Ha- 
inilton, the painter, to whom he had been introduced by Mr. 
Hobinson, took him to a cofTee-house, the usual resort of British 
travellers. While they were sitting at one of the tables, a vener- 
able old man, with a guitar suspended from his shoulder, entered 
the room, and coming immediately to their table, Mr. Hamilton 
addressed him by the name of Homer. He was the most celebra- 
ted improvisatore in all Italy, and the richness of expression, and 
nobleness of conception which he displayed in his effusions, had 
obtained lor him that distinguished name. 

" Those who once heard his poetry, never ceased to lament 
'hftt it was lost in the same moment, affirra«ig that it ofteu wg^. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOIS. 151 

SO regular and dignified, as to equal the finest compositions of 
Tasso and Ariosto. It wiil, perhaps, afford some gratification to 
the admirers of native genius to learn, that this old man, though 
led by the fine frenzy of his imagination to prefer a wild and 
wandering hfe to the offer of a settled independence, which had 
been made him m his youth, enjoyed in his old age, by the liber" 
ahty of several Englishmen, who had raised a subscription for 
the purpose, a small pension, suflicient to keep him comfortable, 
in his own way, when he became incapable of amusing the pub- 
lic. 

" After some conversation, Homer requested Mr. Hamilton to 
give him a subject for a poem. In the meantime, a number of 
Italians had gathered round them to look at West, who they had 
heard was an American, and who like Cardinal Albani,* they 
imagined to be an Indian. Some of them, on hearing Homer's re- 
quest, observed, that he had exhausted his vein, and had already 
said and sung every subject over and over. Mr. Hamilton, how- 
ever, remarked that he thought he could propose something new 
(o the bard, and pointing to Mr. West, said, that he was an Ame- 
rican come to study the fine arts in Rome ; and that such an 
event furnished a new and magnificent theme. 

" Homer took possession of the thought with the ardour of in- 
spiration. He immediately unslung his guitar, and began to draw 
his fingers rapidly over the strings, swinging his body from side to 
side, and striking fine and impressive chords. When he had thus 
brought his motions and his feelings into unison with the instru» 
ment, he began an extemporaneous ode in a manner so dignified, 
so pathetic, and so enthusiastic, that Mr. West was scarcely less 
interested by his appearance than those who enjoyed the subject 
and melody of his numbers. 

*' He sting the darkness which for so many ages veiled Ame- 
rica from the eyes of science. He described the fulness cf time^ 
when the purposes for which it had been raised from the deep 
were to be manifested. He painted the seraph of knowledge de- 
scending from heaven, and directing Columbus to undertake the 
discovery : and he related the leading incidents of the voyage. 
He invoked the fancy of the auditors to contemplate the wild 
magnificence of mountain, lake, and wood, in the new world ; 
and he raised, as it were, in vivid perspective, the Indians in the 
chace, and at their horrible sacrifices. ^ But,' he continued, * the 
l3eneficent spirit of improvement is ever on the wing, and, like 

* A Sjpaajsb Cardioal, who presumed that American siguifiad IMiS^ 



iSz rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

the ray from the throne of God, it has descended on this youth, 
and the hope which ushered in its new miracle, like the star that 
guided the magi to Bethlehem, has led him to Rome. 

'* ' Methinks I behold in him an instrument cliosen by heaven, 
to raise in America the taste for those arts which elevate the 
nature of man — an assurance that his country will afford a refuge 
to science and knowledsje, when in the old age of Europe they 
shall have forsaken her shores. But all things of heavenly origin, 
hke the glorious sun, move westward ; and truth and art have 
their periods of shining and of night. Rejoice then, O venerable 
Rome, in thy divine destiny ; for though darkness overshadow 
thy seats, and though thy mitred head must descend into the 
dust, as deep as the earth that now covers thy ancient helmet and 
imperial diadem, thy spirit, immortal and undecayed, already 
reaches towards a new world, where, like the soul of man in pa- 
radise, it will be perfected in virtue and beauty more and more.' 

*' The highest efforts of the greatest actors, even. of Garrick 
himself delivering the poetry of Shakspeare, never produced a 
jnore immediate and inspiring effect than this rapid burst of ge- 
nius. When the applause had abated, Mr. West being the stran- 
ger, and the party addressed, according to the common practice, 
made the bard a present. Mr. Hamilton explained the subject 
of the ode: though with the weakness of a verbal translation^ 
and the imperfection of an indistinct echo, it was so connected with 
the appearance which the author made in the recital, that the ifl.' 
^jident was never obliterated from Mr. West's recollection." 



THE CHILD OF BRANKSOME. 

Among the inmates of castles, and the attendants of the 
Knights, were the Dwarfs — little deformed persons who made 
sport for the idle, and who were sometimes favourites of young 
and beautiful ladies. The old romances describe dwarfs as pos*- 
sressing supernatural powers. In the Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
a mischievous Dwarf is introduced, who had the power to deceive 
Others, by making objects appear to be different from themselvej 
' — so as to make a rider and his horse seem to be a load of hay«— 
a child to be a dog, &c. This dwarf of Sir Walter Scott's en- 
ters the castle of Buccleuch, and entices from it a little boy, the 
Iieir of Branksome. He leads the child into the woods, and 
leaves him ; here the boy is scented by a blood-hound, and take^ 
by one of the retainers of Lord Dacre, an Englishman, who wjfe 
^ ewQwy of the Scottd, the boy's father's Gkn, Clan aigoiSSl^^ 



rOETRY TOK SCHOOLS. 153 



-, Ura- number of tenants who acknowledge one lord, who live 

^hU^sWte and who, in former times, fought their lord sbat- 

I'l^fwith h ne'ighbours-lthe application of this word is chiefly to 

les with his '^^^"O" f ^i^ ifjflg S<.o„ i3 a fine specimen of the 

the Scots ihespu t ^^^^ ^^^^^.^^ ^j^^^_ who were 

Sd from trrfancy to protect their father's xlependen.s,. 
and to regard his enemies without fear. 

*« As passed the Dwarf the outer court, 
He spied the fair young child at sport : 
Hfc thought to train him to the wood ; 
For, at a word, be it understood. 
He was always for ill, and never for good. 
Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay 
Led him forth to the woods to p^ay ; 
On the drawbridge the warders stout 
Saw a terrier and larcher passing out. 
He led the boy o'er bank and fell. 

Until they came to a woodland brook ; 
** The ruSaning stream dissolved the spell, 
And his old elvish shape he took, 
Gould he have had his pleasure vilde, 
. • He had crippled the joints ot the noble child 
Orrwith his fingers long andleari, 
Had strangled hi^n in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was Umited ; 
So he but scowled en the startied child, 
And darted through the forest wild ; 
The woodland brook he bounding crossed, 
And laughed, and shouted, ♦ Lost ! lost '. lost . 

Full sore amazed at the wonderous change, 

And frightened, as a child might be, 
At the wild yell, and visage strange, 

And the dark words of gramarye, 
The child, amidst the forest bower, 
Stood rooted like a hlye flower ; 

And when at length, with trembling pace, 
He sQUght to find where Branksome lay, 

He feared to see that grisly face 

Glare from some thicket on his way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on. 
And deeper in the wood is gone,— 



154 TOETBY FOR SCHOOLS. 

For aye llic more he sought his way, 
The further still he went astray, 
Until he heard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of a hound. 

And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 

Comes nigher still, and higher ; 
Bursts on the j)ath a dark blood-hound. 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground. 

As his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the vvildered child saw he, 
He flew at him right furiouslie. 
I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy, 
When worthy of his noble sire, 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire ! 
He faced the bl'od-hound manfully, 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, 

But still in act to spring ; 
When dashed an archer through the glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed, 

He drew his tough bow-stnng ; 
But a rough voice cried, ' Shoot not, ho\ I 
Ho ! shoot not Edward — 'tis a boy !' 

The speaker issued from the wood, 
And checked his follow's surly mood, 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire. 
He would not do the fair cnild harm, 
But held him with his powerful arm, 
That he might neither fight nor flee ; 
For when the red cross spied he, 
The boy strove long and violently, 
* Now, by St. George,' the archer cries, 
" Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 
This boy's fair face and courage free, 
Shows he is come of high degree.' — 

' Yes, I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 



POETRf ran SCHOOLS. 'ioB 

False southron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
Por Walter of Harden shall come with spee(^y 
And William of Deloraine, good at need. 
And every Scot from Eske to Tweed j 
And if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, 
I'll have thee hanged to feed the crow !' 
' Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy ! 
My mind was never set so high ; 
But if tliou art chief of such a clan. 
And art the son of such a man, 
And ever comest to thy command, 

Our wardens had need to keep good order : 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border. 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
AVhen we have taken thy lather's son.' " 



His old elvish shape he took. Those who describe the potvc? 
of witches and dwarfs, pretend that they cannot cross a brook in 
their assumed form. The dwarf had appeared to the deceived 
boy to be a companion of his own age. When he took his own 
shape, and darted away, yelling as he disappeared, the child was 
frightened — but the real danger from the blood-hound does not 
terrify him. 

His awful mother he had in dread. The dwarf was afraid of 
the child's mother. She was more skilled in necromancy ^ or gra- 
marye, than he was. 



THE GALLTAKd's WHITE HORSE. 

Under the feudal system, the vassals were considered as cattle. 
A man was not valued at so much as a warhorse. At length, 
however, the vassals began to feel their importance, and they did 
not always comply with the demands of their Lord, who might, if 
he would, punish them for their disobedience, or sell them with 
the lands they cultivated, or give them another master. The ten- 
ants under this system were superior to mere labourers, they held 
lands injief—zs the grant, under certain conditions, of their lord. 
These were called feudatories, and their property was called a 



S56 POETRY FOR SCHOOIS. 

When a man received his fief, he became the liegeman of the 
liege or lord ; and when he acknowledged the relation subsist- 
ing between himself and the lord, the liegeman offered the lord 
homage. — He then knelt before him, and placing his hands upon 
the lord's knees, said, " Sire, I become your liegeman for such 
a fief, and I promise to guard and defend you against all people.'' 
The lord answered, " I receive you ; and your lands I will de- 
fend as my own:" and he then kissed his tenant as a pledge of 
faith. 

One instance of the spirit of resistance to feudal power, and its 
consequences, is told by Sir Walter Scott : 

<' Earl Morton was lord of that valley* fair, 

The Beattisons were his vassals there. 

The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood, 

The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude ; 

High of heart, and haughty of word, 

Little they recked of a tame liege lord. 

The Earl to fair Eskdale came, 

Homage and Seignory to claim : 

Of Gilbert the Galliard, a heriot] he sought, 

Saying, ' Give thy best steed as a vassal ought. 

* Dear to me is my bonny white steed, 

Oft has he helped me at pinch of need j 

Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 

I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.' 

Word on word gave luel to fire, 
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire, 
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en, 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur, 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir ; 
And it fell down a weary weight, 
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 
The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke, 
Saying, * Take these traitors to thy yoke ; 
For a cast of Hawks and a purse of gold, 
All Eskdale I'll see thee to have and to hold ; 

* Eskdale. 

t The feudal superior, in certain cases was entitled tO the l?§,?t hoK€ 'Pf 
ibe vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld, 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. I 

Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; 
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, 
For he lent me his horse to escape upon.'— - 

A glad man then was Branksome bold, 
Down he flung him the purse of gold ,• 
To Eskdale soon he spurred amain, 
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en. 
He left his merryrnen in the midst of the hill ; 
And bade them hold them close and still ; 
And alone he wended to the plain, 
To meet with the Galhard and all his train. 
To Gilbert the Galhard thus he said : — 
' Know thou me for thy liege lord and head ,: 
Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 
For Scotis play best at the roughest game. 
Give me in peace my heriot due, 
Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. 
If my horn I three times wind, 
Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.' 

Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ;— 

' liittle care we for thy winded horn. 

Ne'er shall it be the Galhard's lot. 

To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 

Wend thou to Banksome back on foot, 

With rusty spur and miry boot.' 

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 

That the dun deer started at far Craikcross ; 

He blew again so loud and clear. 

Through the gray mountain mist there did lances appear 

And the third blast rang with such a din, 

That the echoes answered from Pentoun-linn ; 

And all his riders came hghtly in. 

Then you had seen a gallant shock, 

When saddles were emptied and lances broke '- 

For each scornful word the Galhard had said, 

A Beattison on the field was laid. 

His own good sword the chieftain drew. 

And he bored the Galhard through and through ; 

Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with the rill;. 

Jh^ GallJaxd's Haugh, men call it st91. 

14 



?5S JPOETHY FOR SCHOOL&. 

The Scolts have scattered the Beattison claUy 
In Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source^ 
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse." 



BOARDER WARS. 

The history of the border wars of Scotland ia highly interesting. 
Scotland is only divided from England by an artificial boundary, 
but the two regions were once governed by different kings and 
laws, and the people thought they had different and clashing in- 
terests. Those who hved on the border^ or contiguous territories 
of the two dominions, paid little regard to any laws. — They took 
justice into their own hands, or rather they defied justice, and 
devastated each other's property as much as they could, and they 
kept up for ages the hostihties which some needy robber had be- 
gun. 

In the third canto of the Lady of the Lake — The Gathering — 
Sir Walter Scott represents in a very vivid manner, the spirit and 
alacrity with which the clansmen assembled themselves at the call 
of their chiefs. When the clansmen v/ere suddenly summoned 
t6 their lord's defence, or that of his allies, a signal was carried 
through the tract of country which they inhabited, and with al- 
most incredible speed they assembled themselves at the " trying 
place," or as we say from the French, at the Rendezvous. The 
Funeral and the Wedding were alike suspended at this summons, 
and the mourner and the bride were forgotten ia the claim of a 
Scottish chief. 

" Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland browr^^, 
They poured each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; 
He showed the sign, he named the place. 
And, pre.ssing forward like the wind, 
Left clamour and surprise behind. 
The fisherman forsook the strand, 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand f 
With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
Left in the half-cut swathe his scythe j 
The herds without a keeper strayed, 
The plougti.?(^as in Dfttd^qrrovv sigti^ 



J'OETRY FOR SCHOOlSv tW 

The falc'ner tossed his hawk awayj 
The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
From the gray sire, whose trembling han<l, 
Could hardly buckle on his brand, 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequestered glen, 
Mustered its little horde of men, 
That met as torrents from the height 
In Highland dale their streams unite. 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strongs 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 
Each trained to arms since hfe began. 
Owning no tie but to his clan, 
No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand. 
No law, but Rhoderick Dhu's comman:?.-' 

The predatory habits of these clans originated in their rapacity 
and indolence, and were carried on by the spirit of retaliation. 
The chiefs, however, possessed some high qualities in conjunc 
tion with the passions which produced such shocking results. 
Ellen, in The Lady of the Lake, describes this combination of 
revolting and praise-worthy traits. She speaks of Roderick 
Dhu, the chief of Clan Alpine : 

** I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan the wealth they bring, 
When back by lake and glen they wind, 
And in the Lowland leave behind, 
W^here once some pleasant hamlet stood 
A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
The hand, that for my father fought, 
I honour, as his daughter ought ; 
But can I clasp it reeking red, 
From peasants slaughtered in their shed ' 
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam 
They make his passions darker seem. 
And flash along his spirit high, 
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky * 



iGO rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

THE ALARM. 

The story of Sir Walter Scott's Minstrel is one of the warfare 
of the Scotts, (the family of the Dukes of Buccleuch,) v/ith south- 
ern force and guile. — 

*' When Scropc, and Howard, and Percy's powers 
Threatened Branksome's lordly towers." 

Branksome was the castle of the Buccleuch family, and Scropo 
Howard, and Percy, are names of English noblemen from "Wark- 
worth, and Naworth, and merry Carlisle," who were open ene- 
jiiicsofthe Scotts of Buccleuch. The action of the poem is dat- 
ed about 1550. 

In anticipation of an attack from the southern powers, the 
Scotts mustered the clans, their neighbours and allies. The alarns 
:? exhibited with wonderful animation. 



-the evening fell. 



'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
The stream was smooth, the dew w^as balm, 
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting- lone, 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone : 
Touched a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorn green. 
Her golden hair streamed free from band. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand, 
Her blue eye sought the west afar. 
For lovers love the western star. 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
'J'hat rises slowly to her ken, 
Vnd, spreading broad its wavering light, 
Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 
Is yon red glare the western star ? — 
O, 'tis the beacon blaze of war ! 
Scarce could she draw her tightened breath. 
For well she knew the fire of death ! 

The warder viewed it blazing strong, 
And blew his war-note loud and long. 



=OETRY FOB SCHOOLS, 161 



ril], at the high and haughty sound, 
Rock, wood, and river, rang around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
And startled forth the warriors all ; 
Far downward, in the castle-yard, 
Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 
And helms and plumes confusedly tossed 
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost ; 
And spears in wild disorder shook, 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

The Seneschal, whose silver hair 

Was reddened by the torches' glare, 

Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 

And issued forth his mandates loud, 

^ On Penchryst glows a bale of fire 

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire 

Ride out, ride out. 

The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount y for Branksome, every man 
fhou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan 

That ever are true and stout. 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
For, when they see the blazing bale. 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride for death and lifel 
And warn the warden of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze, 
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise." 

Fair Margaret, from the turret head, 
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 

While loud the harness rung, 
As to their seats with clamour dread, 

The ready horsemen sprung ; 

And trampling hoofs, and iron coats ^ 
And leaders' voices mingled notes, 
And out ! and out 1 
In hasty route» 

The horsemen galloped forth ; 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies, 
To warn their vassals, and allies. 
14* 



rOETRY FOR SCIIOOLF. 



Tiic ready page, with hurried hand. 
Awaked the need-fire's slumbering brandy 

And ruddy blushed the heaven : 
For a sheet of flame, from the turret high. 
Waved like a bloodflag on the sky, 

All flaring and uneven ; 
And soon a score of fires, 1 ween, 
I'Vom height, and hill, and clift', were seen : 
Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 
Each from each the signal caught ; 
Each after each they glanced to sight, 
As stars arise upon the night. 
They gleamed on many a dusky tarn, 
Haunted by the lonely cam ; 
On many a cairii's gray pyramid, 
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 
And Lothian heard the regent's order, 
That all should howiie them from the Border 

The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel : 
The castle bell, with backward clang, 

Sent forth the larum peal ; 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower, 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower ; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard, 
And watchword from the sleepless ward ; 
While, wearied by the endless din. 
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within. 

The noble dame, amid the broil, 
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil, 
And spoke of danger with a smile ; 
Cheered the young knights, and council sage 
Held with the chiefs of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought, 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught, 
Nor in what time the truce he sQUght. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^O 



Some said that there were thousands ten 
And others weened that it was nought 

But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, 
Who came to gather in black mail ; 
And Liddesdale, with small avail, 

Might drive them hghtly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day." 



The castle of the Scotts, at the time expressed in the^ verses, 
was, in possession of the widow of its late lord. Thefair Mar- 
garet '\s the Lady's daughter. 

Is yon red glare the western star? No. It is a war signal. 
On some distant and elevated spot, the Scotts kept a post of ob- 
servation— o. place whore some of their clan were stationed to 
observe if any armed force marched towards the castle. As soon 
as the watchman discovered movements among the enemy, he 
gave notice of itby lighting a fire, which was seen at another high 
place, where another watch was stationed. The second watch- 
man hghted a balefire, which another saw ; and thus, by a suc- 
cession of signs, the endangered family got information of their 
danger, and prepared themselves for defence. This mode of giving 
information, was in ancient times in use among the Greeks and 
Asiatics. In Agamemnon, a tragedy of Eschylus, the circum- 
stance of the taking of Troy is represented to have been thus 
transmitted to Peloponnesus. 

The time of curfew 6eZZ— about eight o'clock at night. 

Warder — a watchman who gave notice of danger to the in- 
mates of a castle. 

Seneschal— an officer who regulated ceremonies, and gave 
orders upon emergences. 

5aZe— beacon-fagot. 

Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the Scotts, 

Need fire — beacon. 

Tarn — a mountain lake. 

Earn — the Scottish eagle. 

Cairn — a pile of stones. 

Bowne — make ready. 

The regent's order. A regent is a person appointed to act tor 
a king in his infancy, in his absence from his kingdom, and dur- 
ing his illness. 

^Who came to gather in hlac^ math The Scotts M not cer- 



161 i'OETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

tainly know who was approaching their domain, it might be somo 
lawless men of the country who were coming to carry ofT cattle, 
and such things as they could find, yet who might be prevented 
from doing this violence by money distributed among them. This 
bribe for refraining from robbery was called black-mail. 

This disorderly and perilous state of society exists no longer. 
The region once disturbed in this manner, is now in security and 
prosperity. This change is sweetly described in the poem from 
which the preceding verses are extracted : 

"Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more j 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed shore ; 
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since time was born, 
Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed. 

Nor startled at the bugle-horn. 

Unlike the tide of human time. 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow. 

Retains each grief, retains each crime. 
Its earliest course was doomed to know : 

And darker as it downward bears. 

Is stained with past and present tears." 



LORD SURREY. 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was the son of a Duke of Nor, 
fork, an English nobleman. Lord Surrey was born in England 
about the year 1516. He was educated in the fashion of that 
age for young persons of his elevated rank. According to an 
old writer of the time, " they began early with languages and 
manners ; from ten to twelve were taught music and dancing, and 
to ^ speak of gentleness ;^ (to converse like gentlemen) then scour- 
ed the fields as sportsmen ; at sixteen were practised^ in mock 
hdXiXQs— jousting, and breaking and riding the war-horse ; and 
at seventeen or eighteen were reckoned fit to enter the world, and 
be entrusted with the duties of men.'* 

Lord Surrey was highly accompHshed, and a writer of poetry. 
Ills poetry is now only read by those students who takp pfeasme 



POETRY rOR SCHOOLS. 165 

in reviving what is old and obsolete, and in tracing tlie past pro- 
gress of English literature. Surrey spent his short life chiefly in 
the court of Henry VIII, or in the mihtary service in France, 
His genius and accomplishments made him enemies. — The un- 
settled state of laws, and the despotism of the royal authority at 
that period in England, made it easy for cruel and unprincipled 
men in high stations to ruin those they hated, and to such men, 
Lord Surrey fell a victim. 

The circumstances of Surrey's death, are not very precisely 
known, but he was falsely accused of treason, (a project against 
the government of his country,) and in the 31st year of his age 
was sentenced to death, and publicly beheaded. The king, being 
near his end, and enfeebled in mind, gave his sanction to this vile 
measure. 

" Thus was cut off, gallant and guiltless, the most accom- 
plished man of his age." 

lovely to the last : 



Extinguished, not decayed. 

This melancholy fact affords a clear inference of the value of 
a wise civil government, founded in the rights of all men. — A 
young person who should now read the frivolous pretences which 
brought Lord Surrey to the block, ought to feel his heart glow 
with gratitude to Providence, that he lives under political institu- 
tions, which forbid the shedding of blood t;xcept (or the worst 
crimes ; and he ought to make himself worthy of that personal 
safety and liberty which when they bestow the privileges of a 
good citizen, require of him all the duties of one. 

Surrey's character and fate are so interesting that many fic- 
tions have been composed upon his history. One of these is, 
that he loved a beautiful English lady named Geraldine — that he 
travelled Italy and Germany, and in order to obtain some intel- 
ligence of the lady Geraldine while he was on the continent of 
Europe, that he repaired to a certain necromancer for information. 
The reputed name o^ ih^i fortune-teller , as we call such impos- 
tors, was Cornelius Agrippa. According to this fable, Agrippa 
showed Lord Surrey the figure of his absent lady in a mirror. — 
She was seen by him reclining on a couch and reading one of 
his sonnets. To complete this story it was further asserted, that 
Lord Surrey was just married to Geraldine when he was torn 
from her, and put to death. 

Towards the end of Sir Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Min- 
strel, a marriage feast is described. — The time in which the cir- 



166 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

cumstanccs related in the poem are supposed to happen, is soon 
after the death of Surrey. One of the entertainments at feasts, 
then in fashion, was the musical recitation of poetry, in honour 
oiheautijkl ladles and true knights. At the marriage feast allu- 
ded to, Fitztraver, a favourite Minstrel of Lord Surrey, is sup- 
posed to be present, and to relate the fabled vision of his unhappy 
master. 

surrey's vision. 

As ended Albert's simple lay. 

Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court ; 
There hung the harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! 

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ? 

His was the Hero's soul of fire. 
And his the bard's immortal name. 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 

They sought together, climes afar, 

And oft, within some olive grove, 
When evening came, with twinkling starj 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant staid, 

And deemed, that spirits from on high, 
Round where some hermit saint was laid. 

Were breathing heavenly melody ; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine, 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

Fitztraver ! O what tongue may say 

The panws thy faithful bosom knew. 
When Surrey, of the deathless lay, 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew ? 



Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high 
He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, 

Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, 
When wise Cornelius promised, by his art. 

To show to him the ladye of his heart. 



rOBTRY rOR SCHOOLS. 



167 



Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim ; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 

That he should see her form m life and limb, 
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, 

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight 
Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might ; 

On cross, and character, and talisman, 
And almagest, and altar,— nothing bright ; 

For fitful was tnc lustre, pale and wan, 
As watch-hght by the bed of some departing man. 

But soon within that mirror huge and high, 

Was seen a sell-emitted light to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy, 

Cloudy and indistinct as feverish dream ; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To form a lordly, and a lofty room, 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. 

Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined j 
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find :— 

That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line, 
That fair and lovely form the Ladye Geraldine. 

Magic is a false art — a pretension of cunning m^ who live 
among the ignorant to impose upon the latter, but some men, 
wise in other respects, have believed in this deception. The 
magicians of Egypt are mentioned in the Bible. In some coun- 
tries, persons called magicians have been really learned, and 
others, less informed, have believed them to be endowed with tlie 
knowledge of future events, and able to change their own aji- 
pearance, or to transform one swbstance into angther, as Vsad J© 



168 rOETRY FOR SCUOOLb. 

gold, &c. To have such abilities, would be to possess superna- 
tural powers — powers greater than other men — No such ability 
has been conferred upon men. 

Room of Granviarye. Granmarye means magic. The talis- 
man and almagest, were certain instruments which the magicians 
pretended to employ, when they practised their art. The alma- 
gest was a book of astrology. 



consta:nce de beverly. 



*' The Catholic religion," says Madame de Stael, " has taken 
up the inheritance of Paganism every where." She means that 
ceremonies, images and institutions, in use among the Pagans of 
Rome, were adopted by Christians of that country, and of that 
form of religion which originated there. The statues of Jupiter 
and Apollo had their heads displaced that they might receive 
those of St. Paul and Peter, and religious orders of the exploded 
faith were remodeled under the new. One instance of this may 
be found by comparing the order of the Vestal virgins of ancient 
Rome, with those of the convents of Christian females. 

In Rome the people worshipped the goddess Vesta, or Fire, — 
originally, perhaps, because that element is so happily diffused 
through all nature, that it is the active agent which produces al- 
most all the sensible changes in every thing, is one of the 
essential principles of life, and the indispensable power which 
ministers in the operation of all arts, and to the enjoyment of all 
comforts. 

The servants of Vesta were young females from noble families ; 
they were neither given nor persuaded to this ministry, but taken. 
The Pontifex Maximus, the chief priest among the Romans, 
when he saw a young girl who pleased him, took her by the 
hand, and declaring that she was appointed a vestal virgin, devot- 
ed her to the education ordained for this order, and her parents 
acquiesced with readiness, believing that they gave up their child 
to a holy vocation. 

The vestal virgins were few in number, their principal duty was 
to keep alive the sacred fire, which was kindled from the rays of 
the sun. The elder educated the younger ones, and they all 
spent their time in performing ceremonies now forgotten, but to 
which ignorance and superstition then attached a false impor- 
tance. So much were the priestesses of Vesta honoured, that 
wElen (hey went abroad the magistrates of R'ome gave ^]kc^.to 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 169 

them. But if they dared <o break their vows they were buried 
ahve. 

The frightful punishment of burying alive has not been confined 
to the vestals of ancient RomO. Convents are houses of religious 
retirement, where women, and sometimes men, agree to spend 
their lives in the services of the Roman Catholic faith. 

The nuns, the female inhabitants of convents, often lead useful, 
benevolent, and happy lives, but they formerly adiered to very 
severe regulations. The governess, or mistress of a convent, 
sometimes called the Abbess, and sometimes the Prioress, was 
made a judge in cases of crimes committed by the nuns ; and 
the laws of these establishments ordered, if a nun eloped from a 
convent with the connivance of any man she loved, that when 
she should afterwards be seized, hke the faithless vestals of Rome, 
she should, be buried, warm with hfe, in a premature grave. 

A most affecting representation of such a cruel sacrifice, is 
found in the second Canto of Sir Walter Scott's Marmion. 
Constance de Beverly, the professed sister of Fontevraud, was 
enticed from her convent by Lord Marmion. Some time after 
this, the wealth of the Lady Clare tempted Marmion to forsake 
Constance, and to seek Clara for his bride. Clara was engaged 
to marry young De VViiton, but Marmion contrived to bring some 
disgrace upon De Wilton, and to engage his master, the king 
of England, to command that Clara should accept Marmion as 
her husband. Clara fled from these importunities to^he convent 
of Whitby, and while she was in that asylum, Constance, resolving- 
that none but herself should marry Lord Marmion, conspired 
with a treacherous monk to poison Clara. 

This guilty design was discovered, and its plotters were pun- 
ished according to the laws of that age. The offence of Con- 
stance was double, and rendered her hable to the death she after- 
wards suffered. An <' ancient Man," the Abbot of Saint Cuth- 
bert, the Abbess of Saint Hilda, and the Prioress of Tynemouth, 
sat in judgment upon these unhappy criminals, in a deep vault far 
beneath the surface of the eai th. 

*•' Before them stood a guilty pair ; 

But though an equal fate they share, 

Yet one alone deserves our care. 

Her sex a page's dress belied ; 

The cloak and doublet loosely tied, 

Obscured her charms but could not hide. 

Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
And on her doublet breast 
15 



iW POETRY FOR 3CHOOI:*. 

Sbc tried to hide the badge of blue. 

Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But at the Prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken band 
That tied her tresses fair, • 
And raised the bonnet from her head, 
And down her slender form they spread 

In ringlets rich and rare, 
Constance de Beverly ihey know 
Sister professed of Fontevraud,* 
Whom the church numbered with the dead 
For broken vows and convent fled. 

When thus her face was given to view, 
(Although so pallid was her hue, 
It did a ghastly contrast bear 
To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 
Her look composed, and steady eye, 
Bespoke a matchless constancy ? 
And there she stood, so calm and pale 
But that her breathing did not fail, 
And motion slight of eye and head, 
And of her bosom, warranted 
That neither life nor pulse she lacks, 
You might have thought a form of wax. 
Wrought to the very sense was there. 
So still she was, so pale, so fair. 

Her comrade was a sordid soul — 

****** 

This wretch was clad in frock and cowl^ 
And shamed not loud to moan and how). 
His body on the floor to dash. 
And crouch like hound beneath the lash ; 
While his mute partner standing near, 
Waited her doom without a tear. 
Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek 
Well might her paleness terror speak I 
For there were seen in that dark wall. 
Two niches narrow deep, and tall. 
Who enters at such grisly door. 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more* 
fa each a slender meal was laid 

*Pronouncecl Fontevrq* 



fOETRY FOR SCHOOLS, i71 



Of roots, of water, and of bread. 
By each in Benedictine dress 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch* 
Reflecting back the smoky beam, 
The dark red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed^. 
And building tools in order laid. 



And now that blind old abbot rose, 

To speak the chapter's doom 
On those the walls were to enclose 

Alive within the tomb ; 
But stopped, because that woful maid, 
<jrathering her powers^ to speak essay^d^ 
Twice she essayed, and twice in vain, 
Her accents might no utterance again ; 
Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 
From her convulsed and quivering lip t 



At length an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart, 

And hght came to her eye, 
And colour dawned upon her cheek 
A hectic and a fluttered streak 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 

By autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when h-er silence broke at length, 
Still as she spoke she gathered strengtk 

And armed herself to bear. — 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy. 

In form so soft and fair. 

■' 1 speak not tq^implore your grace. 
Well know I for one ifnmute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do Ispeak your prayers to gain,; 
For if a death of imgering pain. 



]72 roETRY Foa schools. 

To cleanse my sins be penance vain, 

Vain are your masses too. — 

Ilistencdto a traitor's tale, 

I left the convent and the veil, 

For three long years I bowed my pride 

A horse-boy in his train to ride. 
* * * * 

He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
And knew her of broad lands the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
And Constance was beloved no more, 
*Tis an old tale and often told ; 

But did ray fate and wish agree, 
Ne'er had been read, in story old 
Of maiden true, becrayed for gold. 

That loved or was avenged like me 

:?f # # * 

This caitiff monk, for gold, did swear 

He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 

And by his drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 

But ill the dastard kept his oath, 

Whose cowardice has undone us both, 
* * *• * 

Now men of death work forth your will. 
For I can suffer and be still ; 
And come he slow or come he fast. 
It is but death who comes at last. 

Yet dread me from my living *omb, 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome^ 
If Marn)ion"s late remorse should wake 
Full soon such vengeance would he take 
That you should wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends, 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 
Then shall these vaults so large and deep 
Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones, 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 



FOETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 

And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 
Marvel such relics herte should be." 

Fixed was her look arfd stern her air ; 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair 
The locks that woRt her brow to shade, 
Stood up erectly from her head ,- 
Her figure seemed to rise more high 
Her voice, despair^s wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the asstonished conolave sate. 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form ; 
And listened for the avengring storm ; 
The judges felt (he victim's dread, 
No hand was moved, no word was said, 
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given, 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : 
'•' Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
Sinful brother, part in peace ! 
From that dire dungeon, place of dooni; 
Of execution too, and tomb, 

Placed forth the judges three ; 
Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
The butcher-work that there befel. 
When they had glided from the cell 
Of sin and misery. 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But, ere they breathed the fresher air, 
They heard the shriekings of despair, 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they take, 
(Such speed as age and fear can make,) 
And crossed themselves for terror's sake. 

As hurrying tottering on. 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 
They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
Fojt welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
KorthuRilirian rocks in answer run^ j. 



1T4 POETRY FOR SCHOOL?, 

To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, 

His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 

The Bamboroufjh peasant raised his head, 

But slept ere half a prayer he said. 

So far was heard the mighty knell, 

The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 

Spread his broad nostril the wind, 

Listed before,, aside, beliind ; 

Then couched him down beside the hind, 

And quaked among the mountain fern, 

To hear that sound so dull and stern. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Two haggard monks in this awful and melancholy picture 
are arrayed in " Benedictine dress." The different orlers 
of monks first originated in soriie religious men who retired from 
all business and collected about them others disposed like them- 
selves. These persons lived and associated together, possessed 
the same property, and followed nearly the same occupations. 
Those who joined their society, one after another, and followed 
them, generation after generation, took the name of the first foun- 
der of the society. This person was afterwards called a Saint. 
Saint Benedict, Saint Francis, Saint Dominick, were distinguish- 
ed Fathers of the religious orders in the Catholic Church. The 
words Benedictine, Franciscan, and Dominican, signify persons 
severally attached to the orders or institutions of these priests. 

Among different orders of the Catliolic priesthood, the Jesuits 
— the order of Jesus — is the most extraordinary. Tiie history of 
the Jesuits and of their founder Ignatius Loyola, is highly inter- 
esting to those who are sufficiently matured and experienced to 
understand the efiects produced by a great genius in designing 
great things, and the still greater results which numbers of men 
acting with untiring energy and united wills, can accomplish. 



Constance first threatens her judges wuth the vengeance of 
Marmion, when " late remorse" should revive his affection foi 
her ; and her voice, taking the " tone of prophecy," foretold 
that yet a " darker hour" than his provoked spirit could hasten, 
awaited them in " the ire of a despotic King." This despotic 
King was Henry the VHI. 

When the Komans possessed Britain they doubtless brought 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



176 



the intelligence of Christianity with them, and Christian converts 
must have been made in Britain, but how much this Christianity- 
prevailed is not now known. The Saxon masters of Britain, who 
succeeded the Romans, brought with them the tyranny of igno- 
rance and of physical power ; and Christianity was so little re- 
garded after the time of the Saxon domination, that the Popes 
of Rome considered Britain among the waste places of Heathen- 
ism, and sent thither one of the first Christian missions upon 

record. 

About the year 596 Pope Gregory I- sent St. Augustine, or 
Austin, with forty monks, to instruct the people of Britain in the 
Christian religion. England and Wales at that time were divided 
into different principalities, i:thelred, king of Kent, was among 
the first proselytes of Augustine, and became an important aid to 
bis purposes. Augustine was a spiritual governor as well as 
teacher, and the baptized converts, and established churches and 
ministers from Kent to Northumberland ; he also penetrated into 
Wales, where he lound a form of Christianity more simple than 
the Romish faith. It had been learned in the second century 
after Christ from the Romans, and was still cherished. 

Augustine was without humility, and expected to be acknowl- 
edo-ed'^by all the inhabitants of Britain, as head of the English 
church under the Pope. 'J'he Welsh, not comprehending the au- 
thority of the Pope and Saint Austin, thought fit to reject it, and 
the saint denounced vengeance upon them. A King of North- 
'umberland took upon himself the accomplishment of this threat, 
and without afJbiding them time for defence, slaughtered about 
twelve hundred of the Welsh Christians. Fear, as well as confi- 
dence, served to establish the Catholic religion, and after the sixth 
century it was acknowledged m Britain, by the Kings and the peo- 
ple. 

From this time large grants and gifts enriched and multiplied 
monasteries or religious houses, and they continued to increase in 
power and wealth for nearly a thousand years, increase of 
their power, however, received several checks. Reformers at 
different times lifted up their voices. Wicklifie and Lord Cob- 
ham declared for religious liberty. King Henry II. and Ed- 
ward III. restrained edesiastical power, aud the scriptures were 
translated. 

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Pope Leo X. was en- 
gaged in building that wonder of modern architecture, St. Peter's 
church at Rome, and in order to obtain money for the accomplish- 
ment of that expensive undertaking, he gave a commission to cer- 



176 roETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

tain Catholic Priests to sell Indulgences, and send the profits to 
liim at Rome. These Indulgences were privileges to commit ac- 
tions forbidden by the laws and the Gospel, without liability to 
punishment in this world, or another. The impossibility that a- 
ny human sovereign could discharge his fellow men from the laws 
of his Maker, made multitudes of almost all Catholic countries 
distrust the authority of the Pope who affected to do this, and 
made the religious establishments less venerable in all the coun- 
tries which afterwards became Protestant. 

Henry VIII. adhered to the ceremonies of Popery all his life, 
but he was a most powerful enemy to the Pope's authority in Brit- 
an. Henry caused himself to be declared by the parliament the 
the Protector and independant head of the church of England. 
In virtue of this authority, Henry caused a visitation to be made 
to all the convents, and a report of their condition to be published. 
This account, perhaps with too little regard to truth, gave a most 
detestable character to the monasteries, so that the public mind 
was easily reconciled to their suppression. Not long after the 
visitation, three hundred and seventy-six houses were suppressed, 
and the lands and other property attached to them were confis- 
cated, or applied by the King to public uses. 

The new appropriation of the wealth of the Church did not 
stop here, for the number of religious houses of different kinds 
that were suppressed has been estimated to be six hundred and 
forty-three convents, and more than two thousand small establish- 
ments for worship, education, and charity. It is impossible that 
much distress should not have attended such a sweeping remedy 
of real or supposed abuses, and well might Constance give that 
lively personification of the monarch's anger which led to these 
illustrations. 

The altars quake, the crosier bends. • The altars which Catho- 
lic superstition has erected shall be shaken. The Crosier is a staft' 
surmounted by a cross. It was carried by Catholic bishops as a 
symbol of eclesiastical power — those who bore it might dread the 
time when it should be bent in subjection to the refornied religion. 

1,ADY OF THE LAKE 

This beautiful tale is a more universal favourite, than any By Sir 
Walter Scott'. It is exquisitively descriptive, and so peculiarly 
fascinating, that a person who takes it up for the first time is sel- 
dom known to leave it till the whole is read. The first Canto 
^f the Lady of tht Ljrfie describes a cha^. Hunting is S© cccn- 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 177 

pation necessary to men in the savage state, and in civilized coun- 
tries opulent men of leisure love to excite their spirits by the 
sports of the field. To hunt the boar, the stag, and the fox, be- 
sides many other animals, in many countries is considered by ac- 
tive and adventurous persons as among the most animating pleas- 
ures of life. 

The Chase in the Lady of the Lake describes a hunt of the 
King of Scotland, which ended in the loss of the game, and the 
death of King James's fine horse. After the luss of his horse, the 
King expects to sleep in the open air ; but the state of the coun- 
try made it dangerous, and he wandered in quest of a safe place, 
until he came full in view of Loch Katrine, a beautifully wooded 
lake embosomed in profound solitude. In the lake lie several is- 
lands — one of them is the retreat of an outlaw, Roderick Dhu, 
and also the asylum of Lord Douglas and his daughter Ellen. 
Lord Douglas was under the displeasure of the King, and had 
taken refuge with his kinsman. In hope to summon some strag' 
gler of his train, the King sounds his bugle ; it was heard by 
Ellen Douglas, who was navigating hei fairy frigate on the lake, 
— and believing she replied to her father or to Malcolm Graeme 
a welcome visitor to her retreat, she answers the stranger, who 
soon explains his circumstances. Ellen in the generous confi- 
dence and hospitality of that age, takes him into the shallop. He 
rows to the island, and is made welcome to the rustic habitation 
of Dame Margaret, the lady oT Clan Alpine, and the mother of 
Roderick. The Douglas and the Chieftain are both absent, and 
the stranger Knight announces in the assumed character of 
James Fitz- James, [Fitz- James, son of Juuies.) The next morning 
the Knight leaves the island under safe conduct. 

THE CHASE. 

" The Stag at eve had drunk his fill. 

When danced the moon on Monad's rdJ, 

And deep his midnight ^air had made 

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade j 

But, when the sun his beacon red 

Had kindled on Benvoirlick's head. 

The deep-mouthed blood-hound's heavy bay 

Resounded up the rocky way. 

And faint, from farther distance borne, 

Were heard the clanging h^of and horn. 

As chief who hears his warder call, 

' To arms ! tne foeman storm the wall',, — 



JT8 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The antlcrcd monarch of the waste 

Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 

But, ere his fleet career he took, 

The dew-drops from liis flank he sijook ; 

Like crested leader proud and high, 

Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 

A moment gazed adown the dale, 

A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 

A moment listened to the cry, 

That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 

Tiien, as the headmost foe^' appeared, 

AVith one brave bound the copse he cleared, 

And stretched forward free and far. 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

• Yelled on the view the opening pack, 
Rock, glen and cavern paid them »)ack ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountains gave response. 
Clattered an hundred steeds along. 
Their peal the merry horns rung out; 
An hundred voices joined the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo 
No rest Benvoirlich's echo knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe. 
Close in the covert cowered the doe. 
The falcon, from her earn on high, 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
TJie hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its falling din 
Keturned from cavern, cliff and Imn, 
And silence settled wide and std), 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 

An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong. 
licss loud the sounds of sylvan war 
Disturbed the heiglits of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where 'tis told 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his path- way hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, strayed per-force, 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 179 



And of the trackers oF the deer ; 
Scarce half the lessen ng pack was near ] 
So shrewdly on the mountain side, 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

The noble stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended far beneath, 
The varied realms of fair Monteith. 
With anxious eye- he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And pondered refuge from his t©il, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copse-wood grey, 
That waved and wept on Loch Achray, 
And mingled with the pine trees blue, ^ 
On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue 
Fresh vigor with the hope returned, 
AVith flying foot the heath he spurned. 
Held westward with unweared race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt through Carabus-more ; 
What reins were tightened m despair. 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith.— 
For twice, that day, from shore to shore, 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
That reached the lake of Vennachar : 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
That horseman plied the scourge and steel 
For, jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Embossed with foam and dark with soil, 
While every gasp with sobs he drew, 
The labouring stag strained full in view. 
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 
Unmatched for courage, breath and speed, 
Fast gn his flying traces came^ 



\ 30 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear\s length from his hauncli, 

Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds stanch ; 

Nor nearer miir'nt the dogs attain, 

Nor farther nnghl the quarry strain. 

Thus up the margin of ihe lake, 

Between the precipice and brake 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

The hunter marked that mountain high, 
The lone lake's western boundary, 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay, 
Where that huge rampart barred the way : 
Already glorying m the prize, 
Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death halloo 
Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew : 
But thundered as he came prepared, 
With ready arm ar.d weapon bared, 
The wily quarry shunned the shock. 
And turned hun from the opposing rock : 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosach's wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There while, close couched, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild tlowers on his head, 
He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hallow pass amain, 
Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 

Close on the hounds the hunter came, 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labours o'er. 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 
Then touched with pity and remorse, 
He sorrowed o'er the expirmg horse. 
' I little thought when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOXS. 

That highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my gallant, steed ! 
Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day, 
That cost thy life, my gallant grey T " ^ 

ELLKN DOUGLAS. 

" But scarce again his horn he wound, 

When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 

From underneath an aged oak, 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A damsel, guider of its way, 

A little skiff shot to the bay, 

That round the promontory steep, 

Led its deep hne in graceful sweep. 

Eddying in almost viewless wave, 

The weeping willow twig to iave, 

And kiss with whispering sound and slow, 

The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 

The boat had touched this silver strand, 

Just as the hunter left his stand. 

And stood concealed amid the brake, 

To view this Lady of the lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 

She thought to catch the distant strain, 

With head upraised, and look intent, 

And eye and ear attentive bent, 

And locks flung back, and lips apart 

Like monument of Grecian art. 

In listening mood she seemed to stand, 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a grace, 
Of finer form, or lovelier face I 
What though the sun with ardent frown, 
Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown,— » 
The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
Had dyed her glowing hue to bright. 
Served too in hastier swells to show, 
Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; 
What though no rule of courtly grace 
To measured mood had trained her pace,— 



Wi 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

A foot more light, a step more true, 

Never from the heath-flower daslied the dew 

Even the slight hare-bell raised its head, 

Elastic from her airy tread ; 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of the rrrountain tongue, — 

Those silver sounds so soft, so dear 

The listener held his breath to hear. 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid : 

Her satin snood, her silken plaid. 

Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 

And seldom was a snood amid 

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 

Whose glossy black to shame might brin^ 

The plumage of the raven's wing ; 

And seldom o'er a breast so fair 

Mantled a plaid with modest care, 

And never brooch the folds combined 

Above a heart more good and kind. 

Her kindness and her worth to spy, 

You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 

Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 

Gives back tlie shaggy banks more true. 

Than every free born glance confessed 

The guileless movements of her breast ; 

Whether joy danced in her dark eye» 

Or wo or pity claimed a sigh, 

Or filial love was glowing there, 

Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 

Or tale of injury called forth 

The indignant spirit of the north. 

Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was borne :- - 

» Father!' she cried ; the rocks around 

Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 

A while she paused, no answer came, 

' Malcolm, was thine the blast V the name 

Less resolutely uttered fell, 

The echoes could not catch the swell. 

' A stranger I,' the huntsman said, 

Advancing from the hazel shade. 

The maid alarmed, with hasty oar, 

Push her light shallop from the shore. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And when a space was gained between, 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing! 
So turn to prune his ruffled his wing.) 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed. 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye. 
That youthful madens wont to fly. 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 

Yet had not quenched the open truth, 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there. 

The will to do, the soul to dare. 

The sparkling glance sot)n blown to fire> 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould. 

For hardy sports, or contest bold ; 

And though m peaceful garb arrayed, 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride, 

As if a baron's crest he wore, 

And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed, 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland, 

Less used to sue than to command, 

A while the nriaid the stranger eyed, 
And, reassured at iast replied. 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill, 
^' Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert hume ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew, 
This morn a couch was pulled for you .; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 



J 84 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 

To furnish forth your eveningf cheer.'' 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred," he said ; 
*' No right have I to claim, misplaced.. 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer here, by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me. fair, 
Have ever drawn your mountain air. 
Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy land.*' 

" I well believe," the maid replied. 

As her light skiff* approached the side, 

" I well believe that never before 

Your foot has trod Loch-Ka rine shore j 

But yet, as far as yestermgfht. 

Old Allan-bane foretold y<»ur plight, — 

A grey-Jiaired sire, whose eye intent, 

Was on the visioned future bent. 

He saw your steed, a dappled grey, 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 

Painted exact your form and mien, 

Your hunting suit of Lmroln green, 

That tassel'd horn so gayly gilt. 

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 

That cap with heron's plumage trim, 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 

He bade that all should ready be, 

To grace a guest of fair degree ; 

But light f held his prophecy. 

And deemed it was my father's horn, 

Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne.'' 

The stranger smiled : — " Since to your home 

A destined errant knight I come. 

Announced by pro[)het sooth and old. 

Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 

I'll lightly front each high emprize. 

For one kind glance of those bright eyes ; 

Permit me, first, the task to guide 

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide. ' 

The maid, with smiles suppressed and sly, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. -^^ 



The toil unwonted saw him try ; 
For seldom sure, if e'er before, 
His noble hand had grasped an oar ; 
Yet with main strenjj^th his strokes he drew 
And over the lake the shallop flew ; 
With heads erect, and whimpering cry. 
The hounds behind their passage ply. 
Nor frequent does the bright oar break 
The darkening mirror of the lake, 
Until the rocky isle they reach. 
And moor their shallop on the beach. 

The stranger viewed the shore around ; 
'Twas all so close with c«»pse-wood bound. 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road. 
That winded through the tangled screen. 
And opened on a narrow green. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 

It was a lodge of ample size. 

But strange of structure and device. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 

A rural portico was seen, 

Aloft on native pillars borne, 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The ivy and Idaean vine, 

The clematis, the favoured flower, 

Which hosts the name of virgin-bower ; 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch- Katrine's keen and searchmg air. 

An instant in the porch she stayed, 

And gayly to the stranger said, 

^' On heaven and on thy lady call, 

And enter the enchanted hall." 

*' My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 

My gentle guide, in following theo." 

16'' 



186 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



ROKEBV. 



Rokeby is an English story ; the scene is in tlie north of Eng- 
land, and the date 1644. The most interesting characters in 
Rokeby, are Redmond O'Neale, a young Irishman trained by the 
lord of Rokeby, and Matilda, the only daughter of Rokeby. 

MATILDA. 

*« Wreathed in its dark browu rings, her hair 
Half hid Matilda's iorehead fair, 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose, with faint and feeble streak. 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
That you had said her hue was pale, 
But if she faced tlie summer gale, 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, 
Or heard the praise of those she loved, 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 
The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 

There was a soft and pensive grace, 

A cast of thought upon her face, 

That suited well the forehead high, 

The eye-lash dark, and downcast eya ; 

The mild expression spoke a mind 

In duty firm, composed, resigned ;-— 

'Tis that which Roman art has given, 

To mark their maiden queen of heaven. 

In hours of sport, that mood gave way 

To Fancy's light and frolic play. 

And when the dance, or tale, or song, 

In harmless mirth sped time along, 
\ Full oft her doating sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 
But days of war, and civil crime, 

Allowed but ill such festal time, 
And her soft pensiveness of brow 
Had deepened into sadness now. 
And boding thoughts that she roust part 
With a soft vision of her heart,—. 



POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 107 

All lowered around the lovely maid, 
To darken her dejection's shade." 

Some years before the timo of the poem of Rokeby, the Irish 
had rebelled against the English government in Ireland, and the 
Earl of Essex was employed to crush the rebellion ; but O'Neale, 
a descendant of the ancient insh princes, assumed the sovereign- * ' 
ty of the province of Ulster, and for a while was acknowledged 
king. The author of the poem supposes that while O'Neaie 
held out against the English, th« Knight of Rokeby, with his 
confederate Mortham, was employed in the English military 
service in Ireland, and that falling into the power ofO'NealCj 
they were treated with generosity and hospitality, and sent safe 
and nnransomed home. On account of the friendship thus com- 
menced, the grandson of Rokeby's preserver on the reverse of his 
fortune, was sent to Rokeby's protection, was afterwards trained 
under his roof, and in due time married to his daughter Matilda > 

REDMOND o'nEALE. 

'* Years sped away. On Rokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed j 
Calm he enjoyed, by Greia's vvave. 
The peace which James the peaceful gave. 
While Mortham, far beyond tne main, 
Waged his fierce war^? on Indian Spain 

It chanced upon a v/intry night, 

That whitened Stanemore's stormy height. 

The chase was o'er, the stag was kiUedj 

In Rokeby-hall the cups were filled, 

And, by the huge stone chimney sate 

The knight, in hospitable state. 

Moonless the sky, the hour was late. 

When aloud summons shook the gate. 

And sore for entrance and for aid 

A voice of foreign accent prayed. 

The porter answered to the call, 

And instant rushed into the hall 

A man, whose aspect and attire 

Startled the circle by the fire. 

His plaited hair in elf-looks spread » 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretched and trim 



^SS rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

His vesture showed the sinewy limb ; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent tolJed round his breast j 

A mantle long an i 'oose he wore, 

Shaggy with c.^- ind stained with gore. 

He clasped a burthen to his heart, 

And, resting on a kotted dart, 

The snow from hair and beard he shook, 

And round him ijazed with wildered look 

Then up the hail, with staggering pace. 

He hastened by ihc blaze to place, 

Half lifeless from i/ie bitter air. 

His load, a boy of beauty rare. 

To Rokeby. next, he louted low. 

Then stood erect ws tale to show, 

AVith wild majestic port and tone, 

Like envoy ot some barbarous throne. 

« Sir Richard, lord of Rokeby, hear ! 

Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 

He graces thee, and to thy care 

Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 

He bids thee breed hiin as thy son, 

For Turlough's days of jo;' are done ; 

And other lords have seized his land, 

And faint and feeble is ^is hand, 

And all the glory of Tyrone 

Is like a morniiifr valour flown. 

To bind the duty ci\ thy soul, 

He bids thee tbiak on Erin's bowl ! 

If any wrong the young O'Neale, 

He bids thee think o^" Erin's steel. 

To Mortham first this charge was due, 

But, in his absence, honours you. — 

Now is my master's message by, 

And Ferraught will contented die.' — 

His look grew fixed, his cheek grew pale, 

He sunk when he had told his tale ; 

For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 

A mortal wound was in his side. 

Vain was all aid — in terror wild. 

And sorrow, screamed the orphan child. 

Foor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes, 



POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 189 



And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 
All reckless ofhis dying pain, 
He blest, and blest liinj o'er Hgain ! 
And kissed the little hands outspread, 
And kissed and crossed the infant head. 
And, in his native tongue and piirase, 
Prayed to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength togetf er drew, 
The charge to Rokfby to r»jnew 
When half was faltered from his breast. 
And half by dying signs expressed. 
* Bless the O'Neale V he iamvly said. 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the child to end the tale ; 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had be< n forced to roam. 
Which had not been il Kei niond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand, 
The brand of Lenangh More the Red, 
That hung beside the g^ray wolPs head.— 
'Twas from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was his guide, 
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met th.em in tht wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length, 
And stripped of all, bis tailing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renewed again his moaning wild. 



The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows ^ 
Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; 
When next the sutnmer breeze comes by, 
And waves the bush, rhe flower is dry. 
Won by their care, rhe orphan child 
Soon on his new protectors smiled. 
With dimpled cheek and eyes so fair, 
Through his thick curk of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laughed that cheek and eye. 



1 90 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

When Rokcby's little maid was nigh ; 
'Twas his, with elder brother's oride, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guiSe ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue. 
To soothe her infant ear he sung, 
And primrose twined with daisy fair, 
To form a chaplet Jor her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 
The children still were hand in hand, 
And good sir Kichard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kmdly tied. 

But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit j 
And years Iraw on our human span, 
From child to boy, from boy to man : 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in burner's green. 
He loves to wake the feloii boar. 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 
And loves, against the d( erso dun, 
To draw the shaft, or lilt the gun ; 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime, 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 
-And down its clustered stores to hail, 
Where young Matilda holds her veil. 
And she, whose veil receives the shower, 
Is altered too, and knows her power ; 
Assumes a monitress' pride, 
Her Redmond's dan zerous sports to chide, 
Yet hstens still to hear him tell 
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell. 
How at his fall the bugle rung, 
Till rock and green wood answer flung; 
Then blesses her, tiiat man can find 
A pastime of such savage kind ! 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale, 
And knew so well each point to trace, 
Gives living interest to the chase. 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
His spirit's wild romantic glow, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^ ^ ^ 

That, while she blamed, and while she feared, 
She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
To bower and hail their steps restrain, 
Together they explored the poge 
Of glowing bard or gifteu sage, 
Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 
The minstrel art alternate tried, 
While gladsome harp and lively lay 
Bade winter-night flit fast away ; 
Thus from their childhood blending stiU 
Their sport, their study, and their skill." 



HOMER. 

Homer is usually styled the father of poetry. The oldest poet 
Avith whom we are acquainted, is Moses -Moses song which 
may be found in Deuteronomy, chapter xxxii. is translated from the 
Hebrew, and is the most ancient specimen of poetry with which 
we are acquainted. The probable date of it is 1550 years before 
Christ— six hundred years before Homer, the Greek poet. 

MOSEs' SONG. , 

*' Give ear, O ye heavens, and 1 will speak ; and hear, O earth, 
the words of my mouth. My doctrine shall drop as the rain, 
my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain upon the ten- 
der herb, and as the showers upon the grass : Because I will pub- 
lish the name of the Lord : ascribe ye greatness unto our God. 
He is the rock, his work is perfect : for all his ways are judgment : 
a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he. 

«' They have corrupted themselves, their spot is not the spot 
of his children : they are a perverse and crooked generation- 
Do ye thus requite the Lord, O foolish people and unwisej is 
not he thy father that hath bought thee ? hath he not made thee 
and established thee ? Remember the days of old, consider the 
years of many generations: ask thy father, and he wil shovv 
ihee ; thy elders, and they will tell thee. When the Most High 
divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the 
sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people accordmg to the 

children of Israel.- . • ^i, i * ^r i.:«, 

«« For the Lord's portion is his people ; Jacob is the lot ot tiis 

in heritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste 

fowling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept 



192 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

him as the apple of his eye. As an eagle stireth up her nesl, 
fluttejeth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh 
them, beareth them on her wings : so the Lord alone did lead 
him, and there was no strange god with him;" 

The foolish people and unwist, before whom Moses celebrates 
the divine majesty and goodness, were the Israelites, whom, du- 
ring more than forty years, this great man had governed, and 
whom he was now about to leave forever. 



Homer's ver?es were first preserved by oral tradition. Lycur- 
gus heard them recited in Ionia, and made the people of Sparta 
acquainted with them ; but accordirsg to Cicero, it is to Pisistra- 
tus, the Athenian , that we are indebted for the ultimate preser- 
vation of Homer's works and fame. Pisistratus caused the 
books of Homer to be transcribed and placed in the public libra- 
ry which he founded at Athens. Frt)m this copy other manu- 
scripts were taken, and these m modern times have been copied, 
multiplied and diffused by means of the art of printing. 

Scholars of the sixteenth century in England employed them- 
selves in translations from Greek and Latin. Greek and Latin 
tragedies, and the poetry of Virgd, and Ovid, were thus made 
familiar to the English reader. When Pope was a boy, about 
the year 1700, he "was mitiated in poetry by the perusal of 
Ogilby's Homer, and Sandy's Virgil.'' Chapman's translation 
of Homer is also mentione<l about i\w same time. The date of 
these translations is not accurately known to me, but they were 
not of a character to exclude the utility and desirableness of an 
improved version of Homer. 

Mr. Pope began an English translation of Homer's Iliad in 
1712, and finished it in 1718. It was first published by subscrip- 
tion in six volumes, with notes illustrative of the text. ''The en- 
couragement given to this translation," says Dr. Johnson. " was 
such as the world has not often seen." Mr, Pope receivedfrom 
Lintol the bookseller for this work /5320, more than g 18,000 of 
our American money. 

" It is" said Dr. Johnson, *' the noblest version of poetry which 
the world has ever seen ; and its publication must therefore be 
considered as one of the great events in the annals of learning." 
The publication of the Iliad was completed in 1720. The Odys- 
Isey, in the translation of which Mr. Pope was assisted by two gen- 
tlemen, Fenton and Broome, was finished in 1726, and from this 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 19S 

work the principal translator derived a large sum, so that he can- 
not be ranked among poor poets. 



Pope's Homer is among the most popular books in our lan- 
guage. Mr. Gibbon, the historian of the Roman empire, was de- 
lighted with Pope's Homer when he was a boy, and could hardly 
be persuaded that the venerable Grecian could be more beautiful 
in his original form. Lord Byron says — " Who ever read Cow- 
per's Homer ?" and at the same time he speaks of the lively plea- 
sure which Pope's version, with its smooth and flowing versifica- 
tion, has afforded him Mr. Cowper did not thus love Pope's 
Homer — that elegant and upright poet did not consider it the 
"noblest version " which might be made of the ancient classic. 

Cowper completed a translation of the Iliad and Odyssey, on 
ihQ 25 of August, 1790. He was occupied in the work five years 
and one month. It was written in blank verse, and how faithful 
soever it may be to the original, it wants the attractiveness of 
rhyme ; and notwithstanding the judgment of some excellent 
scholars, that the translation of Pope is often obscure and para- 
phiastic, and that Cowper is more simple and more faithful to Ho- 
mer, the public mind upon this subject nearly agrees with Lord 
Byron's opinion. 

Those who sympathize with Cowper, must take some interest 
in a work which alleviated the sufferings of the afflicted poet. 
Of his completed translation he says — *' Now I have only to re- 
gret that my pleasant work is ended. To the illustrious Greek! 
owe the smooth and easy flight of many thousand hours. He has 
been my companion at home and abroad, in the garden, and in 
the field ; and no measure of success, let my labours succeed as 
they may, will ever compensate to me the loss of the innocent luxu- 
ry that I have enjoyed as a translator of Homer." 

The Iliad is the history of a war. The Odyssey is chiefly the 
history of an individual and his family, and, though it is connected 
with the Trojan uar, it is a description of domestic manners, and 
throws much light upon the religion, the state of knowledge, and 
the useful and ornamental arts of that time. 

The Iliad describes a series of battles between the Greeks and 
Trojans. The whole narrative is highly interesting. Some rigid 
moralists have considered the works of Homer as dangerous to 
the principles of the young. He, say they, makes war attractive 
and exalts the false glory of military heroes. The pure virtues, 
whicli Christianity recommends are forgotten by the admirer ol^ 

17 



1 94 rOETKY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Homer, as he feasts his immagination in the lustre of great crimes 
dignified by the authority of great names. 

Homer represents barbaruos men as they were, but he does not 
forget to infuse the sentiments of religion and humanity which 
might be found among them ; and these reheve his dark pictures 
of violent passions, ferocious manners, and wanton waste of hu- 
man life. There is something in the character of the warrior fa- 
cinating to the young ; but other causes besides the reading of Ho- 
mer, form the false moral taste which is charmed with military 
glory, such are the want of Christian education — the want of an 
early and deep conviction that the praise of God is better than the' 
praise of men. A mind early impressed with the beautiful charac- 
ter of Jesus, will feel that benevolence, and the dignity of a soul 
sustained by unfaltering trust in God under all circumstances, 
may afford noble displays of virtue than all the occasions that wa? 
ever produced. 

There exists 

A higher than the warrior's excellence. 
In war itself, war is no ultimate purpose. 
The vast and su'Jden deeds of violence, 
Adventures wild, and wondersof the moment — 
These are not they, my son, that generate 
The calm, the blissful, the enduring miglity ? 

Coleridge's translation of Wallensieirij 
Some of the finest thoughts we have seen upon this subject 
have been lately offered to the world in Dr. Channing's review of 
the life of iSapoleon Bonaparte. *' The greatness of the warrior,'^ 
says Dr. Channing, " is poor and low compared wilii the mag- 
nanimity of virtue. It vanishes before the greatness of principle. 
The martyr to humanity, to freedom, or religion ; the unshrink- 
ing adherent of despised anJ deserted truth ; who alone, unsup- 
ported, and scorned, with no crowd to infuse into him courage, 
no variety of objects to draw his thoughts from hinself, no oppor- 
tunity of effort or resistance to rouse and nourish energy, still 
yields himself calmly, resolutely, with invincible philanthopy, te 
bear prolonged and exquisite suffering, which one retracting 
word might remove ; such a man is as superior to the warrior, as 
the tranquil and boundless heavens above us, to the low earth 
we tread beneath our feet. 

" Great generals away from the camp, are commonly no great- 
er men than the mechanician taken from his workshop. In con- 
versation they are often dull. Works of profound thinking on 
general and great topics they cannot comprehend. The *coti' 
•^ The Duke of Wellington. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 195 

tpieror of Napoleon, the hero of Waterloo, undoubtedly posses- 
ses great military talents ; but we have never heard of his elo- 
quence in the senate, or of his sagacity in the cabinet ; and we 
venture to say, that he will leave the world without adding one 
new thought on the great themes, on which the genius of philos- 
ophy and legislature has meditated for ages. We will not go 
down for illustration to such men as Nelson, a man great on the 
deck, but debased by gross vices, and who never pretended to 
enlargement of intellect. To institute a comparison in point of 
talent and genius between such men and Milton, Bacon, and 
Shakspeare, is almost an insult on these illustrious names. 

"Who can think of these truly great intelligences; of the 
range of their minds through heaven and earth ; of their deep 
intuition into the soul ; of their new and glowing combinations 
of thought ; of the energy with which they grasped and subjected 
to their main purpose, the infinite materials of illustration which 
nature and life afford, who can think of the forms of transcend- 
ent beauty and grandeur which they created, or which were 
rather emanations of their own minds ; of the calm wisdom and 
fervid impetuous imagination which they conjoined; of the do- 
minion which they have exerted over so many generations, and 
which time only extends and makes sure ; of the voice of power, 
in which, though dead, they still speak to nations, and awaken in- 
tellect, sensibihty, and genius in both hemispheres ; who can 
think of such men, and not feel the immense inferiority of the most 
gifted warrior, whose elements of thought are physical forces 
and physical obstructions, and whose employment is the combi- 
nation of the lowest class of objects, on which a powerful mind 
can be employed." 

Hector, a Trojan prince, is perhaps the most interesting of Ho- 
mer's heroes The charm of Hector's character is principally 
derived from his amiable domestic affections. The parting of 
Hector and and Andromache is in most collections of poetry, but 
it is not a less touching scene because it is well known. 

PARTIING OP HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 

«« Ere yet I mingte in the direful fray, 
My wife, my infant, claim a moment's stay ; 
This day (perhaps the last that sees me here) 
Demands a parting word, a tender tear : 
This day, some god who hates our Trojan land 
May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

' He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart 
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part ; 
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain : 
She, with one maid of all her menial train, 
Had thence retired ; and with her second joy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, 
Pensive she stood on Ilion's tow'ry height. 
Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight ; 
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, 
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore. 

But he vvho found not whom his soul desired. 
Whose virtue charm'd him as her bf auty fired, 
Stood in the gates, and ask'd what way she bent 
Her parting step ? if to the fane she went, 
Where late the morning matrons made resort j 
Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court ? 
Not to the court, reply'd the attendant train. 
Nor mix'd with matrons to Minerva's fane : 
To Ilion's steepy tow'r she bent her way, 
To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day. 
Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword , 
She heard, and trembled for her absent lord : 
Distracted with surprise, she seemed to fly, 
Fear on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye. 
The nurse attended with her infant boy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy. 

Hector, this hearfl, returned without delay ; 
Swift through the town he trod his former way. 
Through streets of palaces, and walks of state^, 
And mnt the mourner at the Scoean gate. 
With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair^ 
His blameless wife, Action's wealthy heir ; 
The nurse stood near, in whose embraces prest 
His only hope hung smiling at her breast, 
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, 
Fair as the new born star that gilds the morn. 
To this loved infant Hector gave the name 
Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream ; 
Astyanax, the Trojans called the boy, 
From his great father, the defence of Troy. 
Silent the warrior smiled, and pleased resign'd 
To tender passions all his mighty mind ; 
His beauteous princess cast a mounrnful lookj 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 197 

Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke ; 
Her bosom laboured with a boding sigh, 
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. 

Too daring prince ! ah whither dost thou run? 
Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son ! 
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be 
A widow I, a helpless orphan iie ! 
For sure such courage length of life denies, 
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain ; 
Now hosts oppose *hee, and thou must be slain '. 
Oh grant me, gods 1 ere Hector meets his doom? 
All I can ask of heaven, an earthly tomb ! 
So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 
And end in sorrow, as they first begun. 
No parent now remains, my griefs to share, 
No father's aid, no mother's tender care. 

The fierce Achilhs wrapt ovr walls in fire ^ 
Laid Thehe waste, and slew my warlike sire .' 
His fate compassion in the victor bred ; 
Stern as he was. he yet revered the dead, 
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, 
And laid him decent on the funeral pile : 
Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burned 
The mountain-nymphs the rural tomb adorned ; 
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow 
A barren shade, and in his honour grow. 
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell. 
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell ; 
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed^ 
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled. 
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands. 
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands : 
Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again 
Her pleasing empire, and her native plain, 
When ah ! oppressed by life-consuming yfOp 
She fell a victim to Diana's bow. 

Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee. 
Alaa ' my parents, brothers, kindred, all, 
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. 
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share, j 
Oh prove a husband's and a fathei's car^'j 



i98 



rOETRT FOR SCHOOLS* 



That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, 
Where yon wild fig- trees join the wall of Troy : 
Thou, from this tower, defend the important post 
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host, 
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, 
- And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given. 
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. 
Let others in the field their arms employ, 
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy. 
The chief replied : Thai post shall be my care 
Nor that alone, but all the works of war. 
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd, 
And Troy's pround dames, whose garments 

sweep the ground, 
Attaint the lustre of my former name, 
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame ! 
My early youth was bred to martial pains, 
My soul impels me to the embattled plains : 
Let me be foremost to defend the throne, 
And guard my father's glories, and my own. 
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates ; 
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates I 
The day when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend, 
And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, 
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, 
Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, 
As thine, Andromache ! thy griefs I dread ; 
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led I 
In Argive looms our battles to design. 
And woes, of which so large a part was thine . 
To bear the victor's hard commands, %t bring 
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 
There, while you groan beneath the load of life. ^ 
They cry. Behold the mighty Hector's wife ! 
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears tosee^ 
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me. 
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 
A thousand griefs shall waken at the nam€ : 
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, ^^ 

Pre«s'd with c^ load of monumentii day i 



POETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 199 

Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 
Shall neither hear the sigh, no see the weep. 
Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy 
Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest. 
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled. 
And Hector hasted to relieve his child, 
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, 
And placed the beaming heUneton the ground j 
Then kissed the child, and lifting high in air, 
Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer : 

O thou, whose glory fills th' etherial throne, 
And all ye deathless powers ! protect my son I 
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, 
Against his couctry's foes the war lo wage, 
And rise the Hector of the future age ! 
So. when, triumphant from successful toils 
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, 
Whole hosts may hail hira with deserved acclaim 
And say Hhis chief transcends his father's fame: 
While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy 
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy, 

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, 
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms ; 
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, 
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile surveyed. 
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 
The soften'd chief with kind compassion viewQi^-, 
And dried the falhng drops, and thus pursued : 

Andromache 1 my soul's far better part. 
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart ? 
No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. 
Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth, 
And such the hard condition of our birth. 
No force can then resist, no flight can save, 
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 
No more — but hasten to thy task at home, 
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom ; 
Ble glory sUmmens t© the inattrai eccire, 



>00 POBTHY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The field of combat is the sphere for men, 
Where Ijerops war. the fore.iiost place I claim; 
The first in danger, as the first in (ame. 

Thus having? said, tlie glorious chief resumes 
His tow'ry helmet, black with sha ling plumes ; 
His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, 
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye, 
That streamed at every h^ok ; then moving slow. 
Sought her own palace, and indulged her wo. 
There, while her tears deplored the godlike man. 
Through all her tram the soft inffection ran. 
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, 
And mourn the living Hector as the dead." 



Achilles was the most valiant of the Greeks, as Hector was ot 
the Trojans. The fierce Achilles wrapt our walt^ in firc^ &c. 
These lines immediately foliowmc this, describe the conduct ot 
Achilles as the victor of Thebes and Hippoplacia in Cilicia. An- 
dromache was a princess of that country , she :!ays Achilles rc^ 
spected her dead father, and gave him the honour of a funeral 
pile, raised a heap of earth over his ashes, and permitted a grove 
of elms to be planted by the young women of the place around 
his tomb. The brothers of An.Jromache, feeding their flocks, 
were surprised by the ferocious ciuel, and sent to hell. This ex- 
pression, in this place, only jiiunates sudden death. Androma- 
che's mother, the queen of Hippophicia, was at first made a slave 
to the victor, but he restore^: i:, r to her sylvan lands — too late 
however — she fell a victim to Diana's bow. Diana was one of the 
powers of life and death. This is a figurative manner of saying, 
the queen died. 

I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led. &c. Hector foresees 
the day in which his wife, accor ling to the custom of that time, 
when she should become a prisoner of war, would be made a slave 
fo the conquerors of his country. 

There guide the spindle, and direct the loom. This shows the 
simplicity of the modes of life among princes of that time. — 
Andromache's brothers, like Jacob's sons, (ed their flocks — The 
mighty Hectares wife employed herself in domestic manufactures: 



REVENGE OF ACHILLES. ■ 

Hector killed Patroclus, the beloved friend o^ Achilles. Achil- 
fcs felt unbounded fury at this act, and resolves upon th^ death 9^ 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 201 

Hector. Upon this event, which Achilles accomplishes, the im- 
placable vengeance of his heart is shocking — he refuses funeral 
rites to the dead, and dra^s his corpse in the most outrageous 
manner round the monument of Patroclus. 

<' Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred, 
(Unworthy of himself, and of the dead,) 
The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound 
With thongs inserted through the double wound ; 
These fixed up high behind the rolling wain, 
His graceful head was trailed along the plain. 
Proud on his car the insulting vistor stood, 
And bore aloft bis arms distilling blood. 
He smites the steeds ; the rapid chariot flies ; 
The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. 
Now lost is all that fornsidable air ; 
The face divine, and long descending hair, 
Purple the ground, and streak tiie sable sand ; 
Deformed, dishonoured, in his native land ! 
Given to the rage of an nisult v^ throng ! 
And, in his parents' sight, now dragged along V 



FUNERAL OF HECTOR. 

Achilles, after offering these indignities to the remains of Hec- 
tor, retains the body. Priam, king of Troy, the unfortunate 
father of Hector, entreats Achilles to restore the corpse, and, 
though he had swOrn to refuse, his obdurate heart at length yields 
to the pleading of huraanitv. and he permits the afflicted Priam to 
pay the last honours to his son. 

*' Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray, 

Sprung thro' the gates of lignt, and gave the day : 

Charged with their mournful load, to Ilion go 

The sage and king, majestically slmv. 

Cassandra first beholds, from ilion's spire, 

The sad procession of her hoary sire. 

Then, as the pensive pomp advanced more near. 

Her breathless brother stret hed upon the bier ; 

A shower of tears o'erflows her beauteous eyes, 

Alarming thus all Hi )n with her cries. 

Turn here your cteps, and here your eyes employ, 

Ye wretched daughters, and ye sons of Troy ! 

If e'er ye rushed in crowds, with vast delight. 



202 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To hail your hero glorious from the fight ; 
iVow meet him dead, and let your sorrows flow ' 
Your common triumph, and your common wo. 

In thronging crowds ihey issue to the plains, 
Nor man, nor woman, in the walls remains, 
In every face the selfsame grief is shown, 
And Troy sends forth one universal groan. 
At Scasa's gates they meet the mourning wain, 
Hang on the wheels, and grove round the slain. 
The wife and mother, frantic with despair, 
Kiss his pale rheek, and rend their scattered hair 
Thus wildly wailing, at the gates they lay. 
And there had sighed and sorrowed out the day ; 
But godlike Priam from the chariot rose ; 
Forbear he cried this violence of woes ; 
First to the palace lei the car proceed, 
Then pour your boundless > arrows o'er the dead. 

The waves of people at hi^ word divide, 
Slow rolls the chariot thro" the following tide ; 
Even to the palace thf^ sad pomp they wait : 
They weep, and place him on t e bed of state. 
A melancholy choir attend ar<»und. 
With plantive sighs, and music's solemn sound : 
Alternately they sing, alternate flow 
Th' obedient tears, melodious in their wo 
While deeper sorrows groan from each full heart. 
And nature speaks at every pause of art. 

First to the corse the weeping consort flew ; 
Around his neck her milk-white aruis she threw, 
Awd, oh my Hector! oh my lord ! she cries. 
Snatched in thy b'oom from these desirujg eyes ! 
Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone ! 
vnd I abandoned, desolate, alone! 
An only son, once comfort of our pains, 
;ad product now of hapless love remains ! 
.'lever to manly age that son shall rise, 
!)r with increasing graces glad uiy eyes : 
Jot Ihon now her great de;ender slain 
jhall sink a smoking ruin on the plain. 
vVho now protects her wives with guardian care? 
Who save>i her infants from the rage of war ? 
Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o'er, 
Those wives must wait them to a foreign shore ! 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 203 

Thou too, my son ? to barb'rous climes shalt gOj 
The sad companion of thy mother's wo : 
Driven hence a slave before the victor's sword ; 
Condemned to toil for some inhuman lord. 
Or else some Greek whose father prest tlie plain.. 
Or son, or brother, by great Hector slain. 
In Hector's blood his vengeance shall enjoy. 
And hurl the headlong from the tow'rs of Troy. 
For thy stern father never spared a foe ; 
Thence all these tears, and all this scene of wo ! 
Thence many evils his sad parents bore, 
His parents many, but his consort more. 
Why gavest thou not to me thy dying hand ? 
And why received not I thy last command ? 
Some word thou vvouldest have spoke, which sadly 

dear 
My soul might keep, or utter with a tear ; 
Which never, never, could be lost in air, 
Fixed in my heart, and oft repeated there ! 

Thus to her weeping maids she makes her moan ; 
Her weeping handmaids echo groan for groan. 

The mournful mother next sustains her part> 
O thou, the best, the dearest to my heart ! 
Of all my race thou most by heav'n approved. 
And by the immortals even in death beloved ! 
While all my other sons m bafbarous bands, 
Achilles bound, and sold to foreign lands, 
This felt no chains, but went a glorious ghost 
Free^ and a hero to the Stygian coast, 
Sentenced, 'tis true, by his inhuman doom, 
Thy noble corpse was dragged around the tomb, 
(The tomb of him thy warlike arm had slain,) 
Ungenerous insult, impotent and vain ! 
Yet glowest thou fresh with every hving grace. 
No mark of pam, or violence of face ; 
Rosy and fair ! as Phoebus' silver bow 
Dismissed thee gently to the shades below. 

Thus spoke the dame, and melted into tears 
Sad Helen next in pomp of grief appears : 
Fast from the shinmg sluices of her eyes 
Fall the round crystal drops, while thus she cries- 

Ah dearest friend ! in whom the gods had joined 
The mildest manners with the bravest mind ; 



'i04 rOETHY FOE SCHOOLS. 

Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o'er. 
Since Paris brought me the Trojan shore ; 
Yet was it ne'er my fate, from thee to find 
A deed ungentle, or a word unkind : 
When others curst the authoress of their wo, 
Thy pity checked my sorrows in their flow ; 
If some proud brother eyed me with disdain, 
Or scornful sister with her sweeping train, 
Thy gentle accents softened all my pain. 
For the I tnourn ; and mourn myself in thee, 
The wretched source of all this misery ! 
The fate I caused forever I bemoan ; 
Sad Helen has no friend now ihou art gone ! 
Thro' Troy's wide streets abandoned shall I roam ! 
In Troy deserted, as abhorred at home ! 

So spoke the fair, with sorrow-streaming eye ; 
Distressful beauty melts each stander-by ; 
On all around the infectious sorrow grows ; 
But Priam checked the sorrow as it rose. 
Perform, ye Trojans ! what the rites require, 
And fell the forests for a funeral pyre ; 
Twelve days, nor foes, nor secret ambush dread, 
Achilles grants these honours to the dead. 
He spoke ; and at his word, the Trojan train. 
Their mules and oxen hfyness to the wain, 
Pour through the gates, and felled from Ida's crown. 
Rolled back the gathered forests to the town. 
These toils continue nine succeeding days, 
And high in air a sylvan structure raise. 
But when the tenth fair morn began to shine, 
Forth to the pile was borne the man divine. 
And placed aloft : while all with streaming eyes 
Beheld the flames and rolling smoke arise. 
Soon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn. 
With rosy lustre streaked the dewy lawn ; 
Again the mournful crowds surround the pyre, 
And quench with wine the yet remaining fire, 
The snowy bones his friends and brothers place 
(With tears collected) in a golden vase ; 
The golden vase in purple palls they rolled 
Of softest texture, and inwrought with gold. 
Last o'er the urn the sacred earth they spieEta-; 
And raised their tomb, memorial of the d^xJ? 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 205 

Strong guards and spies, till all their rites were done. 
Watched from ihe rising to the setting sun :) 
All Troy then moves to Priam's court again, 
A solemn, silent, melancholy train : 
Assembled there, from pious toils they rest, 
And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast, 
Such honors Ilion to her hero paid. 
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector*s shade,'^ 



The sage and king, &c. Priam was accompanied in his jour 
ney to the tent of Achilles by Idaeus the herald. 

Hecuba, the mother of Hector, appears to take a melancholy 
pleasure in the thought that Hector desctnded/ree to the Stygian 
coast. The Hell of the ancients was watered by the Styx. The 
deceased lingered on the Stygian shore — the banks of the Styx— 
*' a naked, wandering, melancholy ghost,''' till the rites of sepul- 
ture were paid, and then the judges of the dead sentenced him to 
the reward of the '* deeds done in the body." 

Helen was the wife of Manelaus, the Spartan king. Paris, the 
brother of Hector, enticed her to accompany him to Troy, 
To punish this act, the princes of Greece had invaded Troy 
Helen's grief is very honourable to Hector — it describes that ai 
tectionate and gentle nature so dear to his parents, his wife, and 
his domestics. 

Sarpedon reputed to be a son of Jupiter, was a king of Lycia 
in Asia Minor He, with his friend GJaucus, repaired to Troy, 
to assist Priam against the Greeks. He is represented by Ho- 
mer to have been a man of high honor : being about to attack 
the Greeks, he exhorts Glaucus in a manner worthy of his station : 

<' Nor Troy could conquer, nor the Greeks would yield. 
"Till great Sarpedon towered amid the field ; 
For mighty Jove inspired with martial flame 
His matchless son, and urged him on to fame. 
In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar, 
And bears aloft his ample shield in air : 
Within whose orb the thick bull-hides were rolled 
Ponderous with brass, and bound with ductile gold : 
And while two pointed jav'Hns arm his hands, 
lyiajestic moves along, and heads his Lycian bands- 
Why boast we, Glaucus 1 our extended reign, 
Where Xanthus' stream enrich the Lycian plain^ 

18 



206 rOETRY FOR SCBOOLB, 

Oar num'rous herds that range the fruitAjl field; 
And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, 
Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crowned, 
Our feasts enhanced with music's sprightly sound ': 
Why on those shores are we with joy surveyed. 
Admired as heroes, and as gods obeyed ? 
Unless great acts superior merit prove, 
And vindicate the bounteous powers above. 
'Tis ours, the dignity they give, to grace, 
The first in valour, as the first m place. 

That when, with womi'ring eyes, our martial bands 
Behold our deeds transcending our commands. 
Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state. 
Whom those that envy, dare not imitate ! 
Could all our care elude the gloomy grave. 
Which claims no leys the fearful and the brave. 
For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 
In fighting fields, nor urge my soul to war. 
But since, aias ! ignoble age oHist come. 
Disease and death's inexorable doom ; 
The hfe which others pay, let us bestow, 
And give to fame what we to nature owe ; 
Brave though we fall, and honoured if we live. 
Or let us glory gain, or glory give 1'* 



Why on these sliorcs? &c. These lines are rendered thus in 
Cowper's Iliad : — 

*' Why gaze thy all on us as we were gods 

In Lycia, and why share we pleasant fields 

And spacious vineyards where the Xanthus winds ? 

Distinguished thus in Lycia we are called 

To firmness here, and to encounter bold 

The burning battle, that our fair report 

Among the Lycians may be blazoned thus — 

No dastards are the potentates who rule 

The bright-armed Lycians ; on the fatted flock 

They banquet, and they drink the richest wines. 

But they are also valiant, and the fight 

Wage dauntless" 

These very difierent modes of expression hardly suggest the 
idea <^ the same passage. In English prose the sense of Pope^s 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 207 

version is this — Why boast we the favours of the gods — our 
prosperity and our high station ? — Why do our subjects regard us 
as gods, unless our conduct is worthy of our privileges ? — It be- 
comes us to prove that we deserve ihe divine favour, and the ho- 
mage of our subjects, by actions suitable to the dignity we en- 
joy, and the respect we command. 



In the sixteenth book of the Iliad, Sarpedon is killed by Patro- 
clus, a Greek : 

*' The towering chiefs to fiercer fight advance. . 

And first Sarpedon whirled his weighty lance. 

Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course. 

And spent in empty air its dyinjj force. 

Not so Patroclus' never-erring dart ; 

Aimed at his breast, it pierced the mortal part 

Where the strong fibres bind tlie solid heart. 

Then, as the mountain oak, or poplar tall, 

Or pine, (fit mast for some great admiral,) 

Nods to the axe, till with a groaning sound 

It sinks, andspeads its honours on the ground ; 

Thus fell the king ; and, laid on earth supine, 

Beiore his chariot stretched his form divine : 

He grasped the dust distained with streaming gorCj 

And, pale in death, lav groanmg on the shore. 

Then to the leader of the Lycian band 
The dying chief addrest his last conimand. 
Glauciis be bold ; tliy task be first to dare 

The glorious dangers of destructive war. 

To lead my troops, to combat at their head. 

Incite the living, and supply the dead. 

Tell them, I charged them with my latest breath 

Not unrevenged to bear Sarpedon'sd»^ath. 

What grief, what shame must Glaurtus undergo, 

If these spoiled arms adorn a Grecian foe ! 

Then as a friend, and as a warior fight ; 

Defend my body, conquer in my right ; 

That, taught by great examples, all may try 

liike thee to vanquish, or like me to die. 

He ceased ; the fates suppressed his laboring breath, 

And his eyes darkened with the shades of death. 

The insulting victor in disdain bestrode 



-08 rOETHl" FOR SCHOOLS. 

The prostrate prince, and on his bosom (rode 
All impcicnt of aid, transfixed with gnef, 
Unhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief. 
First to the fig^ht his native troops he warms, 
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive arms. 

He spoke : each leader in his griel partook, 
Troy, at the loss, though all her legions shook. 
Transfixed with deep regret, they view overthrown, 
At once his country's pillar and their own , 
A chief who led to Troy's beleaguered wall 
A host of heroes, and outshoue tiiem all 
Fired thev rush on ; first Hector seeks the foes, 
And with superior vengeance greatly glows. 

Now srrf at Sarpedon on the sandy shore, 
His heave. tly face deform'd with dust and gore, 
And struck with dans by warring heroes shed. 
Lies undi-itingaish'd from the c»immoTi dead. 
H's long disputed corse the chiefs inclose, 
On ev'ry sine the busy couibat gr'»ws 

The/., nor before, the hardy Lycians fled, 
And left their monarch with the common dead : 
Around, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall 
Of carnage rises as the heroes fall. 
(So Jove decreed !) at length the Greeks obtain 
The prize contested, and despoil the slain. 
The radiant arms are by Patroclus borne, 
Patroclus' ships the glorious spoils adorn. 

Then thus to l^hoeous in the realms above, 
Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove. 
Descend, my Phoebus ! on the Phyrglan plain, 
And ifom the fight convey Sarpedon slain ; 
Then baihe his body in the chrystal flood, 
With dust dishonored, and deformed with blood : 
O'er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed, 
And with celestial robes adorn the dead. 
Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath 
To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death : 
They to his friends the mournl'ul charge shall bear, 
His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear ; 
What honours mortals after death receive, 
Those unavailing honours we may give 1 

Apollo bows, and from mount Ida's height, 
iSwift to the field precipitates hi^' flight ; 
Thence from the war ♦he breathless hero bore, 



POETRY I*OR SCHOOIS. 209 

VelPd in a cloud to silver Simois' shore ; 
There bathed his honourable wounds, and drest, 
His manly members in th' immortal vest ; 
And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews, 
Restores his freshness and his form renews. 
Then Sleep anu Death, two twins of winged race. 
Of matchless swiftness but of silent pace, 
Received Sarpeuon, at the gods command. 
And in a moment reached the Lycian land ; 
The corse amidsi his weeping friends they laid, 
Where endless honours wan the sacred shade." 



The insulting meter trod on his prostrate foe. This horribly 
revengeful spirit gives a shocking idea of savage warfare. Chris- 
tianity has taught men a more merciful mode of treating fallen 
enemies. 



ULYSSES. 

Ulysses, king of Ithaca, was the most accomplished of the 
Greeks who went to the siege of Troy. He is described by Ho- 
mer to have been diffident though eloquent, not to have com- 
manded admiration the moment he rose to speak, but by degrees 
to have charmed those who listened to him. 

But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound, 
His modest eyes he fixed upon the ground, 
As one unskilled or dumb, he seemed to stand, 
Nor raised his head nor stretched his sceptred hand ; 
But, when he speaks, what elocution flows ! 
Soft as the fleeces of descending snows. 
The copious accents fall with easy art ; 
Melting they fall, and sink into the heart ! 
Wond'ring we hear, and fixed in deep surprise ; 
Our ears refute the censure of our eyes. 

On bis return from Troy Ulysses fell under the displeasure of 
Apollo. The men under his command had 



dared to prey 



On herds devoted to the god of Day. 

That is they had seized upon flocks reserved for the sacrifices 
to Apollo. The god nndictive doomed them never to return to 
their .country, —they were destined to perish by a scries of aCcV' 

18* 



,'<0 rOETRY FOR SCUOOLi?. 

dents, and tbcir commander was at length to be restored to in. 
dominions. But he was shipwrecked in Orgygia, a supposed 
rrnd of the Mediterranean, Ind for want of a ship to convey un. 
away, was detained in the island seven years. This i^j^nd u a 
the abode of Calypso, one of the Oceanides-chddren of the 
Sean She was ^'daughter of Atlas, one of the Titans or g,am^ 
who rebelled against Jupiter. Calypso ^j^y^^^Ulysses anJ ua- 
^rrieved at his departure, which was effected by the decree of Jote 
Zl Jupiter, who sent Mercury with the celestial message. In in 
fifth book of the Odyssey the passage may be found. 

CALYPSO. 

*' The god who mounts the winged winds 
Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds. 
That high through fields of air his flight sustam 
O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main 
He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, 
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye : 
Then shoot? from heaven to high Pieria's steep, 
And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. 
So watery fowl, that seek their fishy food, 
With winiTS expanded o'er the foamm^ flood, 
Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep, 
Now dip their pinions in the briny deep. 
Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes'flew, 
'Till now the distant island rose in view : 
Then swift ascending from the azure wave, 
He took the path that winded to the cave. 

Large was the grot in which the nymph he found, 
(The fair-haired nymph with every beauty crowned; 
She sat and sung ;' the rocks resound her lays : 
The cave was brightened with a rising blaze : 
Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile. 
Flamed on the hearth, and wide perfumed the isle ; 
While she with work and song the time divides, 
And thro' the loom the golden shuttle guides. 
Without the grot, a various sylvan scene 
Appeared around, and groves of living green ; 
Poplars and alders ever quivering played, 
And nodding cypress formed a fragrant shade ; 
On whose high branches, waving with the storm; 
The birds of broadest wing their mansion form, 
The chough, the sea-mew, the. loquacious crpw» 



I 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 211 

And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. 

Depending- vines the shelving cavern screen, 
With purple clusters bluvshing thro' the green. 
Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil, 
And every fountain pours a several rill. 
In mazy windings wandermg down the hill ; 
Where blooming meads with vivid greens were crowned^ 
And glowing violets threw odours round. 
A scene, where if a God should cast his sight, 
A God might gaze and wonder with dehght ! 
Joy touched the messenger of heaven ; he stayed 
Entranced and all the blissful haunt surveyed. 
Him entering in the cave, Calypso knew ; 
Por powers celestial to each other's view 
Stand still confest, though distant far they lie 
To habitants of earth, or sea, or sky. 

But sad Ulysses, by himself apart. 
Poured the big sorrows of his swelling heart ; 
All on the lonely shore he sat to weep, 
And rolled his eyes around the restless deep ; 
Toward his loved coast he rolled his eyes in vain 
'Till dimmed with rising g»-ief, they streamed again. 

Now graceful seated on her shining throne, 
To Hermes thus the nymph divine begun. 

God of the golden wand ! on what behest 
Arrivest thou here, an unexpected guest ? 
Loved as thou art, thy free mjunctions lay-; 
'Tis mine, with joy and duty to obey, 
Till now a stranger, in a happy hour 
Approach and taste the dainties of my bower. 

Thus having spoke, the nympth the table spread^ 
(Ambrosial catts, with Nectar rosy-red) 
Hermes the hospitable rite partook, 
Divine refection ! then recruited, spoke. 

What moved this journey from my native sky, 
A Goddess asks, nor can a God deny : 
Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove's command, 
Unwilling, have; I trod this pleasing land : 
For who, self-moved, with weary wing would sweep 
Such length of ocean and unmeasured deep : 
A world of waters ! far from all the ways 
Were men frequent, or sacred altars blaze ? 
But to Jove's will submission we must pay ? 



212 rOETRV FOR SCHOOLS. 

What power so great, to dare to disobey ? 

A man, he says, a man resides with thee, 

Of all his kind most worn with misery : 

The Greeks (whose arms for nine long years employed 

Their force on Ilion, m the tenth destroyed) 

At length embarking in a luckless hour, 

With conquest proud, incensed Mmerva's power : 

Hence on the guilty race her vengeance hurled 

With storms pursued them through the liquid world. 

There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave I 

There all his dear companions found a grave ! 

Saved from the jaws of death by heaven's decree, 

The tempest drove him to these shores and thee. 

Him, Jove now orders to his native lands 

Straight to dismiss ; so Destiny commands : 

Impatient Fate his near return attends, 

And calls him to his country, and his friends. 

Even to her inmost soul the Goddess shook : 
Then thus her anguish and her passion broke, 
Ungracious Gods ! with spite and envy curst i 
So till your own etherial race the worst ! 
And is it now my turn, ye mighty powers ! 
Am I the envy of your blisful bowers ? 
A man, an outcast to the storm and wave. 
It was my crime to pity, and to save ; 
When he who thunders rent his bark in twain, 
And sunk his brave companions in the main. 
Alone, abandoned, in mid-ocean tost. 
The sport of winds, and driven from every coast 
Hither this man of miseries I led. 
Received the friendless, and the hungry fed ; 
Nay promised y vainly promised !) to bestow 
Immortal life, exempt from age and wo. 

'Tis past ; and Jove decrees he shall remove 
Gods as we are, wq are but slaves to Jove. 
Go then he may ; (he must, if he ordain. 
Try all those dangers, all those deeps again) 
But never, never shall Calypso send 
To toils like these, her husband and her friend. 
What ships have I, what sailors to convey, 
What oars to cut the long laborious way ? 
Yet, I'll direct the safest means to go ; 
That last advice is all I can bestoiv. 



POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 213 

To her the power who bears the charming rod. 
Dismiss the man, nor irritate ihe God ; 
Prevent the ra^eofhim who reigus above, 
For what so dreadful a.^ the wrath of Jove ? 
Thus bavins- said, he cut the cleaving sky, 
And in a moment vanished from her eye. 

The nymph, obedient to divine command, 
To seek Ulysses, paced along the sand. 
Him pensive on the lonely beach she found, 
With streaming eyes in brrny torrents drowned^ 
And inly pining for hns native shore ; * *K' 
For now the soft enciiantress pleased no more : 
He sat all desolate, and sighed alone, 
While echoing sorrows made the. mountains groan, ; 
And rolled his eyes o'er all rhe restless main, , 
'Till dimmed with rising grief, they rireamed r. gain. 

Elere, on the musing mood the Goddess prest. 
A()proaching soft ; and thus the chief addrest. 
Unhappy man ! to wasti/jg woes a prey. 
No more in sorrows languish life avtay ; ■ 

Free as the winds I give thee now to rove.— 
Go fell the timber of yon loft> grove 
And form a 'aft. and buiid t.he rising ship, "^ 

Subhme to bear thee o'er the gloomy deep. 
To store the vessel let the care be mine, 
With water from the rock, and rosy wine, 
And life-sustainmg bread, and fair array. 
And prosperous? gaies to waft thee on the way. 
These if the Gods wil's my desires comply, 
(The Gods, alas ! more mighty far than Ij, 
And better skiird in dark events to come) 
In peace shall land the at thy native home. 



The god ivho mounts the winged wind. — Mercury, or Hermes, 
the son of Jupiter and Maia. Mercury was the messenger of the 
rods. He was the god of merchants, orators, and thieves. The 
^nythology says, he robbed Neptune- of his tridentyYer.ice of her 
girdle, — the Cestus which made her appear so beautiful — Mars 
'of his sword, and Vulcan of the anvil. 

The wand that causes sleep tojly. The Caduceus, a rod en- 
twined with two serpents. It is ihe emblem of Murcury's vigi- 
lancC} or watchfulness. 



214 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ambrosial cates with Nector rosy red. Ambrosia was the food 
and Nectar the wine of the Gods, 



It is related in the Odyssey that when Ulysses, was in the 
Mediterranean, he slopped at the Island of Circe : his men were 
iu want of food, and they went to the palace of the enchantress to 
procure it, but she transformed them, all except one, to hogs. 

He who escaped returned to Ulysses and told him the misfortune 
of his companions. Mercury appeared to Ulysses and gave him 
an herb called Moly, which was to serve as a protection to him a- 
gainst the arts of Circe. Ulysses then went to the goddess, and 
obtained the restoration of his men. One of these men, named 
Gryllus, refused to be restored to his human shape, preferrmg the 
degraded condition of a hog, to that of a man. 

Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray in France, composed a dia- 
logue between Ulysses and Gryllus. Fenelon did this for the 
instuction of a young prince whom he educated. This dialogue 
has been translated, and it may be useful and entertaining to young 
persons who are not princes. 



ULYSSES AND GRYLLUS. 

Ulysses Are you not rejoiced, my dear Gryllus, to see me a- 
gain ,and to be able to recover ^our human form ? 

Gryllus, I am very glad to see you. favourite of Minerva: 
but for the change of form, excuse me, if you please. 

Ulysses. Alas ! unhappy Gryllus, do you know the condition in 
which you are ? — You are a disgusting object : your gross body 
grovels on the earth, you have long pendulous ears, little eyes, 
hardly open, an odious grunt, a disagreeable physiognomy, and 
a skin covered with coarse and stiff bristles, — in short, your whole 
appearance is hideous,— If you know it not — I tell you of it, and 
you have so little sense of enjoyment in this deplorable state that 
you will find yourself happy to resume that of man. 

Gryllus. You talk very well, but I do wish to resume my for- 
mer condition : — that of a hog is more agreeable. It is true my 
figure is not elegant ; but this does not disturb me, since I never 
look in a mirror, and in my present humor I need not dread to 
see myself in the water, and to be reminded of my ugliness for I 
prefer a muddy pool to a clear fountain. 

Ulysses. Does not this filthiness excite horror in you? You 
live only in loathsome places, and the very odour you diffuse of- 
fends the senses of ail about you. ^^ 



rOETRY FOH SCHOOLS. ' 2K^ 

Grylliis. What do I care, b\\ depends upon taste. This odor 
which is detestable to you, is more fragrant than amber to me ; 
and refuse substances, which man abhors, are nectar to my ap- 
petite. 

" Ulysses. I blush for you. Is it possible that you have so 
son foj gotten the dignity and happiness of man ! 

Grylliis. Speak not to me of the state of man : all his calam- 
ities are real, and his blessings are only imaginary. I have a health* 
ful body covered with a bristled coat, and I have no need of gar- 
ments : you would be more happy in your unfortunate adventures 
if your body was covered hke mine, that you might feel no anxie- 
ty how you should be clothed. 1 find my subsistence every where. 
Law-suits, and wars, and all the other embarrassments of life do 
not disturb me. I have no need of cook, barber, tailor or archi- 
tect. Behold me free and content at little expense. Why then 
would you again subject me to the wants of man ? 

Ulysses. It is true that man experiences great wants, but the 
arts, which he has invented to supply his wants, become his gloryj 
and form his happiness. 

Gryllus, It is better to be exempted from all these wants 
than to possess the most wonderful means to remedy them. It is 
better to enjoy perfect health, without the science of medicinC;, 
than to be always sick — with excellent means of cure. 

Ulysses. But, Gryllus, count you for nothing, eloquence, poe- 
try, music, and the science of all arts, and all civihzed nations, 
— figures and numbers ? — Would you renounce the love of your 
native country and your friends, the pleasures of religious wor- 
ship, the celebration of public benefits, and the hondls to be ob- 
tained from pubhc approbation ? — Answer me. 

Gryllus. My constitution as a hog is so happy, that it raises 
me above these fine things. I love better to grunt than to be 
eloquent as you are, who are persuasive as Minerva. I wish 
neither to persuade, nor to be persuaded. I am as indifferent to 
verse as to prose. The honors which Greeceb estows are crowns 
to wrestlers and chariot racers : I leave them to those who love 
laurels as infants love playthings. I am no more disposed to bear 
away prizes than to envy those who are less burthened with fat 
than myself. 

As for Music, I have lost my taste for it, and taste determines 
the value of every thing : lei us talk no more about these matters. 
Return to Ithaca — My country is any where — the country of a 
hog is wherever there are acorns. Go, reign, behold Penelope 
once more, and punish her lovers, For me my queen is here. 



216 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

3he reigns io my sty, and no one troubles our empire. Many 
kings in sumptuous palaces cannot attain to my felicity ; men 
call them cowards and unworthy of a throne when they wish 
like me, to reign withoui disiurbinj^ mankind. 

Ulysses, You forget that you are at the mercy or men, they 
feed only to devour you. :Vlen, in the rank, in which you wish 
not to be, will convert youmto lard, sausages, and bacon. 

Gryllus. Truly that is the danger of my state ; but yours has 
also its perils. I cxpo.se myself to death by a sensual life, of which 
the enjoyment is real ; you at the aame time, are in danger of a 
sudden death, by an unhappy life, and in the pursuit of vain glory. 
Should Apollo himself sing your achievements, his praises could 
not cure your pains, nor prolonjf your days. 

Ulysses. You are then so brutified as to despise wisdom which 
assimilates men to the Gods ? 

Gryllus. On the contrary, wisdom instructs me to despise men. 
— Since they are unjusi, deceitful, ungrateful, miserable by their 
own folly, cruelly armed against each other, and often as much 
their own as the enemies of their ncghbours, what is the purpose 
of that wisdom of which they boast ? Is it not better to be with- 
out reason, than to use her to authorize crimes ? Without flat- 
tering myself, I may say, that a hog is a very good kind of ani- 
mal : he makes neither false money nor false contracts, he never 
perjures himself; he has neither avarice nor ambition, and he is 
without malice ; he spends his life in eating, drinking, and sleep- 
ing. If men resembled our species the world would enjoy profound 
repose, and you would not be here. Paris would never have car- 
ried off Helen. The Greeks would not have destroyed the splen- 
did city of Troy after a siege often years. You would not have 
wandered over sea and land, the sport of fortune ; and it would 
not be necessary that you should make war with a crowd of usur- 
pers to recover your own kingdom. 

Ulysses. I am astonished at your stupidity, but you must admit 
that the immortality reserved for man after this life elevates him 
infinitely above brutes ? 

Gryllus. If you could convince me that man is an immortal be- 
ing,! am not such a brute as to renounce the nature which you 
hold in honour. Persuade me that man has in him something 
more noble than his body which shall live for ever. — Because I 
b am not convinced of this I persist in being a hog. Show me 
that, that which thinks in man, exists afler his body is decayed 
and dissolved. If you will assure me that man can never die, 
and that rirtwe has its reward in another life, instantly, divine son 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 21 "7 

Laertes, I will share with you all the dangers that await you ; I 
will gladly come out oi^ the sty of Circe ; 1 will divest myself of 
this sensual body, and become a man raised to the enjoyments of 
an immortal being. But in no other way can I accept your offer 
to restore my lost shape. I love rather to be a mere animal, satis- 
fied with the proper nature of animals, than to be a man feeble, 
ignorant, frivolous, malignant, insincere or unjust, or to be a mel- 
ancholy phantom discontented with life, and in the dark concern- 
ng eternity. 

When Gryllus declares he would rather be a brute than a mel- 
ancholy phantom, &c. he is made to allude to the admission of 
Ulysses to the eternal world. In the eleventh book of the Odys- 
sey, Ulysses is sent to the shades — the abodes of departed souls 
— and the dead are described, not as happy, but sad and dispirit- 
ed in their final lot. This view of another life is such, that one 
rather than to be subject to eternal discontent, might naturally 
choose to be exempted from immortality. 

Fenelon meant to teach by this dialogue, that the existence ot 
brutes is the gift of a benevolent God, and that they are as happy 
as the means aud faculties which God allots to them will permit ; 
that man, when he is selfish, cruel, and false-hearted, when he is 
without benevolence, without knowledge, and without a true re- 
ligion, is as miserable -s he is degraded ; and that the rehgion ot 
the heathens was so insufficient to make them happy and good, 
that another and more perfect religious system was necessary to 
reclaim them from their vices, and to satisfy their hopes. This 
religion, he would imply, and it may readily be perceived, is the 
religion of Christ, which establishes that fact most important to 
our satisfaction in this life, that there is another and an eternal 
world, in which we shall be delivered from the afflictions of this 
state ot being, and be admitted to perfect and unending happi- 
ness. 

Apollo. A heathen god — sometimes called the "god of healtli, 
and light, and arts" — properly the sun. The sun, by his genial 
and happy influence upon the human body, produces Irealth, and 
agreeable sensations ; but by the intensity of his heat in some- 
seasons, and climates, he becomes apparently the effective cause 
of disease. Light is well known to emanate directly from the sun. 
It is not quite so plain how music, eloquence, and poetry are in- 
spired by that luminary, but darkness and obscurity dixe figurative 
expressions for ignorance, stupidity, and the absence of all ac- 
complishments. Without the " blessed sun" we could not per 

19 



218 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

ccive nor communicate any thing but sound, and music itself may 
derive much beauty from the cheerful ideas connected with light. 

Minerva. Gryllus says of Ulysses, *' you are as persuasive as 
Minerva^ Minerva is sometimes called Pallas, and sometimes 
Athenae : she was the tutelary genius of Athens. In that city, 
her temple, and the services performed in honour of her, were 
more splendid than any where else — the Athenians expressing 
by this homage, tiieir character, more intellectual and spiritual 
than the rest of the heathen \vorld. 

Minerva, or Wisdom was the daughter of Jove, the supreme 
god of the heathens, and sprung from her father's head. This 
fable implies that God is the origin or beginning of Wisdom. — 
Wisdom signifies knowledge, not only the knowledge of what- 
ever exists, but the knowledge of what is right and best in con- 
duct. 

God^s wisdom ^s infinite— extends through time and eternity, 
and to all beings and events, and appoints and executes all his 
laws. Man's wisdom extends to all his duties — his virtues and his 
jcnowledge Human wisdom is like divine wisdom, but infinitely 
iess in degree. It is sufficient to enable man to do right, to please 
God, and to make him happy. 

Solomon, in the book of Proverbs, has personijied Wisdom — 
that is, spoken of this moral attribute of God as of an intelligent 
and living being. The power and virtue which the heathens im- 
puted to Minerva, are far less exalted than the power and virtue 
of that Wisdom which the king of Israel described. 

Solomon makes Wisdom say, " I love them that love rne ; and 
those that seek me early shall find me. Receive my instruction and 
not silver ; and knowledge rather than choice gold. Riches and 
honor are with me : yea, durable riches and righteousness. 
— Hear instruction and be wise, and refuse it not. — He that 
sinneth against me, wrongeth his own soul. O ye simple, 
understand wisdom : and, ye fools, be ye of an understand- 
ing heart. Hear : for I will speak of excellent things ; and the 
opening of my lips shall be of right things. 

*' The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, before 
his works of old. I was set up from everlasting, from the begin- 
ning, or ever the earth was. When there was no depths, I was 
brought forth ; when there were no fountains abounding with 
water. Before the mountains were settled, before the hills was I 
brought forth : while as yet he had not made the earth, nor the 
fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the world. 



tOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 219 

'« Wh«n he prepared the heavens I was there : when he set a 
compass upon the face of the death : when he estabhshed the 
€louds above : when he strengthened the fountains of the deep : 
when he gave to the sea his decree, that the waters should not 
pass his commandment : when he appointed the foundations of 
the earth : then I was by him, as one brought up with him : and 
I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him." 

circe's palace. 
The following description of Circe's palace, and the transfor- 
euations she wrought, is taken from tiie tenth book of the Odyssey. 
*' The palace in a woody vale they found. 
High raised of stone ; a shaded space around : 
Where mountain wolves and brindled lions roam, 
(By magic tamed) familiar to the dome. 
With gentle blandishment our men they meet. 
And wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet 
As from some feast a man returning late, 
His faithful dogs all meet him at the gate, 
Rejoicing round, some morsel to receive, 
(Such as the good man ever used to give.) 
Domestic thus the grisly beasts draw near ; 
They gaze with wonder, not unmixed with fear. 
Novv on the threshold of the dome they stood, 
And heard a voice resounding through the wood : 
Placed at her loom within, the goddess sung ; 
The vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung. 
O'er the fair web the rising figures shine. 
Immortal labour ! worthy hands divine* 
Polites to the rest the question moved, 
(A gallant leader, and a man I loved.) 

What voice celestial, chanting to the loom 
(Or nymph, or goddess) echoes from the room ! 
Say shall we seek access ? with that they call ; 
And wide unfold the portals of the hall. 

The goddess rising, asks her guests to stay. 
Who blindly follow where she lea^ls the way. 
Eurylochus alone of all the band, 
Suspecting fraud, more prudently remained. 
On thrones around with downy coverings graced. 
With semblance fair the unhappy men she placed. 
Milk newly pressed, the sacr6d flour of wheat, 
And hoiiey fresh, and Pramnian wines the treat : 



?20 roBTBY roR schools. 

But venoracd was the bread, and mixed the bowl, 
"With drugs' of force to darken all the soul: 
Soon in the luscious feast themselves they lost, 
And drank oblivion of iheir native coast. 
Instant her circling wand the goddess waves, 
To hogs transforms them, and the sty receives. 
No more was seen the human ff^rm divine ; 
Head, face, and members, bristle into swine : 
Still curst with sense, their minds rtmain alone, 
And their own voice affrights them when they groan. 
Meanwhile the goddess in d sdain bestows 
The mast and acorn, brutal food ! and stows 
The fruits of cornel, as their feast around ; 
Now prone and groveling on unsavory ground." 



When Ulysses was absent, the princes and noblemen of the 
neighbour nff countries went into his kingdom, lived in his palace, 
fed upon his fl(icks, and severally demanded the queen Penelope 
in marriage — tiiese, in the Odyssey, are called the Suitors. 

Ponelope, wno loved her husband, refused them all, and lived 
with her son Telemachus in Ithaca, always in hopes of the return 
of Ulysses. After twenty years from his departure for Troy, he 
again entered the walls of his palace in the disguise of a beg- 
gar r he was treated with kindness by the Queen and Telema- 
chus, but with contempt and insolence by the Suitors ; however 
he was soon recognised by an old domestic- In due time he de- 
clared himself, and with his s<.n and their taithful adherents, killed 
the Suitors, and was restored to his ancient dignity: 



ARGUS. 

A very interesting account is given of the dog Argus, who re- 
cognised his master Ulysses, when he approached his palace, at- 
tended by Eumaius, an old servant. This sagacious dog has 
been celebrated for three thousand years, and his history is thus 
related in the Odyssey. 

" Thus, near the gates conferring as they drew, 

Argus, the dog his ancient master knew ; 

He, not unconciousof the voice, and tread, 

Lifts to the sound his ear. and rears his head ; 

Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board, 

But ah ! not fated long to please his lord ! 

To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain •: 



i^OETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The voice of glory called him o'er the main, 
'Till then in every sylvan chase renowned, 
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around ; 
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn, 
Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn. 
Now left to man's ingratitude he lay, 
Unhoused, neglected in the public way ; 
And where on heaps the rich manure was spread. 
Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed. 

He knew his lord ; he knew, and strove to meet , 
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet : 
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes 
Salute his master, and confess his joys. 
Soft pity touched the mighty master's sou] ; 
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole. 
Stole unperceived ; he turned his head, and dried 
The drop humane: (her! thus impassioned cried : 

What noble beast in this abandoned state 
Lies here all helpless at UI3 sses' gate ? 
His bulk and beautv speak no vulgar praise ; 
If, as he seems, he was in better days, 
Some care his age deserves : or was he prized 
For worthless beauty ; therefore now despised 1 
Such dogs, and men there are, mere things of state, 
And always cherished by their friends, the great. 

Not Argus so (Eumoeus thus enjoined) 
But served a master of a ni)bler kind, 
Who never, never shall behold him more ! 
Long, long since perished on a distant shore ! 
Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young, 
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong ; 
Him no fell savage on the piain withstood, 
None 'scaped him, bosomed m the gloomy wood ; 
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, 
To wind the vapour in the tainted dew ! 
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast : 
Now years unnerve him. and his lord is lost ! 
The women keep the generous creature bare, 
A sleek and idle race is all their care : 
The master gone, the servants what restrains ? 
Or dwells Humanity where Riot reigns ? 
.Jove fixed it certain, that whatever day 
Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away." 
19* 



221 



222 rOETRV FOR SCHOOL.?. 

GREEK POETS. 

It is not the province of a teacher limited to a literature purely 
Enghsh, to aflbrd inucli knowledge of the writers of ancient 
Greece. But these writers have recorded the religion, the moral 
sentiments, the domestic manners, and the public amusements of 
the Greeks ; and matters of fact m relation to this people, if not 
the elegance of their language and the utmost refinement of their 
thoughts, are offered to common readers in the form of transla- 
tion. 

The connexion of the Greek literature with the English, is de- 
rived from this circumstance, that the greater part of our writers 
are classical scholars — have been instructed in the language and 
literature of Greece ; and those who have not been thus instruct- 
ed, have been informed in the the spirit of the Greek literature 
by their intercourse with books and scholars, so that young per- 
sons who cultivate any knowledge of the literature of their own 
language, have need of some popular elementary information 
concevning the Greek. 

The translations of Homer and the Greek dramatists are the 
best means which merely English students have to inform them- 
selves of the fables, the religion, the f)ublic amusements, and the 
domestic life of the Greeks. Theatrical amusements are not ap- 
proved by many religious persons, but, dramatic literature — writ- 
ten plays — include so much of the poetry of Gieece and England, 
that it IS difficult to exclude it from the liberal studies of any 
young person. 

The origin and progress of the Drama among the Greeks can- 
not be an unsuitable illustration of a collection of poetry, of 
which the professed object is to connect poetry with the history 
of nations, and the progress of society. 

JESIHYLUS. 

**iEschylus was an Athenian of an honourable family, distin- 
guished for the sublimity of his genius and the ardour of his mar- 
tial spirit. In his youth he had read Homer with the warmest 
enthusiasm : and finding his great master unrivalled in the Epic, 
he early conceived the design of creating a new province for 
himself, and forming the drama ; so much we may be allowed to 
infer from the fable, that whilst he was yet a boy Bacchus ap- 
peared to him as he lay asleep in a vineyard, and commanded him 
to write tragedies. This noble design he soon executed, and be- 
fore the twenty-fifth year of his age began to entertain his coun- 
trymen with representations worthy of an Athenian audience. 



POETKY FOE SCUOOIS. ' 223 

He had pursued these studies about ten years, when Darius in- 
>aded GreUe,. His generals, Datis and Artaphernes, with an 
army «f two thousand foot and ten thousand horse were now ad- 
vanceil to tlie plains of Marathon distant only ten miles from Athens. 
Zdn/e "which theatened his country, called forth the marual 
spirit of our poet; and very honorable n.enUon is made ol h.m, and 
hU two brothers, Cyna^girus and Amyn.as, for tbeir emmet valour 
iiTthlt battle : to have wanted courage on such an occasion would 
have been a nark of the most abject baseness ; but to be dis- 
Sgutshedin an action, where every ^olf-'-^^^^^'^.-'i:- 
proof of superior merit. In a picture represenlin. he battle of Ma- 
rathon the portrait of ^schylus was drawn : tins was all the 
honor that Milt.ades himself received from «he state for Ins glo- 
rious conduct on that day. He was placed at the head of the ten 
commanders, and drawn in the act of encouragmg the soldiers 

"1o':f2X'crnWruswas one of the fournaval com- 
nianders, who with a armament of one thousand Grecians, defeat- 
ed thirty thousand Persians ; but he lost his life '" «he action 
Ten vears after the battle of Marathon, when Xerxes made 
that Immense preparation to revenge the defeat of his father^ we 
find that the two surviving brothers exerting their courage in the 
sea fi^ht off Salamis : here \mynias too, boldly laying hold of a 
Persian shTp, had his hand lopped off with a sabre ; but f sehy «s 
defended h m, and saved his life ; and the Athenians decreed him 
the first hono^ because he was the first to attack the commander 
of the Persian fleet, shattered the ship to pieces, and killed the 
Satrao. It is observed that the two bothers were ever after m- 
separable. The following year ^schylus acquired fresh glory m 
the battle of Plata^a, where the brave Persian, Mardonius was de- 
feated and slain. , ^ n t . 

Having taking this active part in the three most memorable bat- 
tles that "race, tiie aaaals of Greece, and distmguished himself as 
a good citizen and a brave man, he returned with ardour to his for- 
mer studies, and completed his design, of makmg the drama a 
regular, noble, and rational entertainment. He wrote aboutseventy 
tragedies, and was in great esteem with his countrymen : but up. 
on some disgust in the latter part of his hfe he retired from Athens 
to the court of Hiero king of Sicily where about three years after 
he died, in the sixty ninth year of his age. 

The traaedy ot the Furies gave great offence; and the poet, 
whether for" that or some other pretence, was accused of impiety. 
His brother Amynias pleaded his cause : the Athenians were 



^24 Por.TRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

struck with tliis instance of fraternal affection, they reverenced 
their maimcd^veteran, and ^Eschylus was acquitted. But such a 
spirit was not formed to submit to the affront ; it made too deep 
an impression to be effaced ; and the poet quitted the city with 
great indignation, declaring with a noble pride tliat he would rather 
trust his tragedies to posterity, certain that he should receive from 
thence the honor he deserved. This honor the Athenians soon 
paid to his noble works : by a decree of the senate, never granted 
to any other, they offered rewards to any man tha. should again 
exhibit^his plays ; they frequently adjudged the prize to him after 
his decease, and acknowledged him the Father of Tragedy. 

The Grecians, advancing in polished manners, carried into their 
towns a feast that sprung from the leisure of the country: their 
best poets took a pride in coniposjng these religious hymns to the 
honor of Bacchus, and embellished them with agreeable enter- 
tainments of music and dancing. After a length of time, the 
songs advancing in perfection, it was found necessary to give the 
singer some relief; and that the company might be amused du- 
ring the pauses of the music, an actor was introduced ; his part 
could be no other than a single speech, setting forth that he rep- 
resented Hercules, or Theseus, or some other hero of antiquity, 
and had performed such or such an illustrious achievement : at 
the next pause another personated character advanced ; at the 
next another ; but each unrelated and unconnected with the other. 

Such was the rude state of tragedy, when iEschylus conceived 
the great design of forming it new species of poetry that should 
rival even the Epic in dignity. The humble arbor interwoven 
with vine branches gave place to scenes of astonishing granduer; 
the actor, tio longer mounted on the cart of Thespis, with his face 
smeared over with lees of wine, or covered with a mask formed 
from the bark of a tree, now trod a spacious stage, magnificently 
habitated in a robe of honour and the stately buskin ; even the 
mask, that eternal disgrace of the Athenian theatre; wore a new 
and elegant form, expressive of the character represented. But 
these exterior decoration were proofs only of the taste of ^Eschylus ; 
his superior genius appeared in giving life to the piece, by intro- 
ducing the dialogue, without which there could be no action ; and 
from this circumstance it is, that he is vvith the,highest^propriety call- 
cd the Father of the Drama. It is commonly said that iEschylus nev- 
er produced more than two speukcrsupon the stage at the same 
time ; there are proofs to the contrary, though he generally adhered 
to that simple plan : but the new part which the Chorus now took 
amply supplied what we should call that poverty of the stage.'' 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 225 

Chorus. In the ancient tragedv, a number of person, ssufficient 
probaly to give animation to the appearance of the stage, joined 
in the representations of the drama, -these formed the Chorus. 
The Chorus seems to consisi of persons of a character that might 
naturally desire to be witnesses of the action represented. Some- 
times they were the old men ot a city who came to behold some 
public transaction, at others rhe attendants of a great family and 
at others strangers apparently collected from curiosity. Their 
observations served to explain what would else be obscure, and 
to connect what would otherwise be broken and contused in the 
order of incident. 



SCENE FROM THE TRAGEDY OF AGAMEMNON. 

A Herald annou?ices to Clytemnestra, the wife of Agamemnon 
the destruction of Troy. 

clytemnestra, chorus, and herald. 

Herald. Hail, thou paternal soil of Argive earth I 
In the fair light of the tenth year to thee 
Return'd, from the sad wreck of many hopes 
This one I save ; saved from despair e'en this ; 
For never thought I in this honored earth 
To sliare in death the portion of a tomb. 
Haii then, loved earth ; hail thou bright sun ; and thou, 
Great guardian of my country, Supreuie Jove ; 
Thou, Pythian king, thy shafts no longer winged 
For our destruction : on Scamander's banks 
Enough we mourned thy wrath ; propitious now 
Come, king Apollo, our defence. And all 
Ye gods, that o'er the works of war preside, 
1 now invoke tnce. Thee Mercury, my avenger, 
Revered by heralds, that from thee derive 
Their high employ. You heroes, to the war 
That sent us, friendly now receive our troops. 
The relics of the spear. 

Imperial walls, 
Mansion of kings, ye seats revered ; ye gods, 
That to the golden sun before these gater^ 
Present your" honoured forms ; if e'er of old 
Those eyes with favour have beheld the king, 
Recieve him now, after this length of time, 



"226 1»0ETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 

With glory ; for he comes, and with him brings 
To you, and all, a light that cheers this gloom : 
Then greet him well ; such honour is his meed 
The mighty king, that with the mace of Jove 
The avenger, where with he subdues the earth, 
Hath levelled with the duet the towers of Troy ; 
Their altars are overturned, their sacred shrines, 
And all the race destroyed. This iron yoke 
Fixed on the neck of Troy, victorious comes 
The great Atrides, of all mortal men 
Worthy of highest honours. Paris now 
And the perfidious state, shall boast no more 
His proud deeds unrevenged ; stripped of his spoils; 
The debt of justice for his thefts, his rapmes. 
Paid amply, o'er his father's house he spreads 
With two-fold loss the wide-involving ruin. 

Chjt. Joy to thee, herald v>f the Argive host. 

Her, For joy like this, deatli were a cheap exchange. 

Clyt. Strong thy affection to thy native soil. 

Her. So strong, the tear of joy starts from my eye. 

Clyt. What, hath this sweet infection reached e'en you? 

Her. Beyond the power of languiige have I felt it. 

Clyt. The fond desire of those, whose equal love — 

Her. This of the army sayest thou, whose warm love 
Streams to this land ? is this thy fond desire ? 

Clyt. Such, that I oft have breathed the secret sigh. 

Her. Whence did the army cause this anxious sadness? 

Clyt. Silence I long have held a healing balm. 

Her. The princes absent, hadst thou whom to fear ? 

Clyt. To use thy words, death were a wished exchange. 
Her. Well is the confli-.t ended. In the tide 
Of so long time if 'midst the easy flow 
Of wished events some tyrannous blast assail us. 
What marvel ? who, save the blest gods, can claim 
Through life's whole course an unmixed happiness? 
Should I relate our toils, our wretched plight, 
Wedged in our narrow ill-provided cabins, 
Each irksome hour was loaded with fatigues. 
Yet these were slight essays to those worse hardships 
We suffered on the shore : our lodgfing near 
The walls of the enemy, the dews of heaven 
Fell on us from above, the damps beneath 
From the moist noarsh annoyed us, shrouded ill 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 227 

In shaggy coverings. Or should one relate 

The winter's keen blasts, which from Ida's snows 

Breathe frore that pierced through all their plumes the birds 

Shiver and die ; or the extreme heat that scalds, 

When in his mid-day caves the sea reclines, 

And not a breeze disturbs his calm repose. 

But why lament these sufferings ? they are past ; 
Past to the dead indeed ; they lie, no mure 
Anxious to rise. What then avails to count 
Those, v/hom the wasteful war hath swept away,' 
And with their loss afflict the living ? rather 
Bid we farewell to misery : in our scale, 
Who haply of the Grecian host remain, 
The good preponderates, and in counterpoise 
Our loss is liofht ; and after all our toils 
By sea and land, before yon golden sun 
It is our glorious privilege to boast, 
*' At length from vanquished Troy our warlike troops 
Have to the gods of Greece brought home these spoils, 
And in their temples, to record our conquests, 
Fixed these proud trophies." Those, that hear this boast, 
It well becomes to gratulate, the state. 
And the brave chiefs : revering Jove's high power 
That graced our conquering arms. Thou hast my message. 



Pythian king. Apollo was called so because he slew the ser- 
pent Python. This is figurative : Python was Disease or Mala- 
dy, and as an enemy to the human constitution is called a serpent. 
Apollo being the god of health, the healer or destroyer of disease, 
is described as having slain a serpent. 

Thy shafts no longer winged for our destruction. This alludes 
to that pestilence in the Greek camp, which is described in the 
iirst book of the Ihad. The instantaneous operation of the pest, 
causes its effects to be compared to the sudden and mortal wound 
of an arrow from the bow. This pestilence is ascribed by Hom- 
er to Apollo, as a punishment for the affront offered to his priest 
Chryses 

Mercury, as the messenger of the gods, was esteemed the pa- 
tron of heralds, whose character therefore was always held sa- 
cred. 



SOPHOCLES, 

" Sophocles, surnsiraed the Bei? and the Attic Siren, was born 



228 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

at Athens, in the year 495 B. C. He gave early proofs of his 
talent for pobfry, an<! aptitude for the business of government. — 
He reached the dignity of Archon, and, in this capacity, com- 
manded the arsnies of the republic of Athens, with considerable 
reputation. As a traffic writer, he shared the favour of the Athe- 
nian public with Curipides, his contemporary and rival. Sopho- 
cles died at the advanced age of eighty-five Some of his biog- 
raphers relate that he expired from an ecstasy ofjoy, produced by 
his having carried the prize at the Olympic Games. But his 
number of Tears may a-one account for Jiis dissolution. He is 
said to have composed one hundred and twenty tragedies, of 
which seven only remain." 

ANTIGONE. 

The character of Antigone, as she is represented by Sophocles 
is that of the loveliest and best of women. She was the daughter 
of GEdipus, king of Thebes. Her father being driven from his 
kingdom, and having in despair torn out his eyes, his faithful and 
patient child follo.vs his wandermgs, and soothes his sufferings as 
long as he lives. When her father is no more, she is afflicted by 
the discord of her brothers, and the persecutions of her uncle 
Creon Her affection, fortitude, and undismayed sense of duty, 
are worthy of a Christian heroine. 

To illustrate the dialogue which follows, these notes are ex- 
tracted from Francklin's Sophocles. 

" Eteocles and Poiynices, sons of the unfortunate CEdipus, 
having an equal claim to the kingdom of Thebes, had agreed to 
divide the power, and to reign year by year alternately ; but Ete- 
ocles stepping first into the throne, and tasting the sweets of sov- 
ereignty, broke the contracf, and maintained himself in the pos- 
session of his dominions Polyrtices in revenge, raised an army of 
Argiues, and made an incursion on Thebes ; a battle ensued, and, 
after much slaughter on both sides, the brothers agreed to decide 
it by single combat ; they fought, and were slain by each other. 
After the death of the brothers, the kingdom of Thebes devolved 
to their uncle Creon, whose first act of supreme power was an 
edict forbidding all rites of sepulture to Poiynices, as a traitor ; 
and pronouncing instant death on any who should dare to bury 
liim. Here the action of the tragedy commences, the subject of 
which is the piety of Antigone in opposition to the edict of Creon, 
with the distresses consequent upon it. Antigone calls her sister 
out of the palace into the adjoining area, to inform her of the de- 
cree whieh had been issued on the preceding day, and ber reso- 
lutions concerning it. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 229 

Of all the honours paid to the dead by the ancients, the care 
of their funerals was looked upcn by them as most necessary and 
indispensable ; as to be deprived of sepulture was accounted the 
greatest misfortune, and the highest injury. No imprecation was 
therefore so terrible as that any person might ' die destitute of 
burial ;' it was not to be wondered at that they were thus solici- 
tons about the interment of iheir dead, when they were strongly 
possessed with the opinion that the souls of the deceased could 
not be admitted into the Elysian shades, but were forced to wan- 
der desolate and alone, till their bodies were committed to the 
earth. Nor was it sufficient to be honoured with the solemn per- 
formance of their funeral rites, except their bodies were prepared 
for burial by their relations, and interred in the sepulchres of their 
fathers." 

The importance attached by the Greeks to the rites of sepul- 
ture, is clear from that passage in Homer, in which Achilles is 
described as seeing, m a vision of the night, his friena Patroclus, 
who had recently been killed, and who reproaches him with neg- 
lecting the last duty to his remains : 

"'Tis true, 'tis certain, man, though dead, retains 

Part of himself — the immortal mind remains. 

***** 

This night my friend so late in battle lost 
Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost. 
' Sleeps my Achilles' — thus the phantom said-— 
* Sleeps my Achilles — his Patroclus dead ? 
Living I seemed his dearest, tenderest care. 
But now forgot 1 wander in the air. 
Let my pale corse the rites of burial know. 
And give me entrance to the realms below : 
Till then the spirit finds no resting place' '* — — ^ 



ANTIGONE and ISMENE. 

Ant. O ! my dear sister, my best-beloved Israene , 
Is there an evil, by the wrath of Jove 
Reserved for (Edipus' unhappy race, 
We have not felt already ? Sorrow and shame, 
And bitterness and anguish, all that's sad, 
All that's distressful hath been ours, and now 
This dreadful edict from the tyrant comes 
To double our misfortunes ; hast thou heard 
What harsh commands he hath imposed on oil 

20 



-30 rOETRY FOR SCII0019. 

Or art thou still to know what future ills 

Our foes have yet in store to make us wretched 'i 

Ism. Since that unhappy day, Antigone, 
When by each other's hand our brothers fell, 
And Greece dismissed her armies, I have heard 
Nought that could give or joy or grief to me. 

Ant. I thought thou wert a stranger to the tidings 
And therefore called thee forth, that here alone 
I might impart them to thee. 

Ism. O 1 what are they ? 

For something dreadful labours in my breast. 

Ant. Know then, from Creon,our indulgent lord. 
Our hapless brothers met a different fate, 
To honour one, and one to infamy 
He hath consigned ; with funeral rites he graced 
The body of our dear Eteocles, 
Whilst Polynices' wretched carcass lies 
Unburied, unlamented. left exposed 
A feast for hungry vultures on the plain ; 
No pitying friend will dare to violate 
The tyrant's harsh command, for public death 
Awaits the offender ; Creon comes himself 
To tell us of it, such is our condition ; 
This is the crisis, this the hour, Ismene, 
That must declare thee worthy of thy birth, 
Or show thee mean, base, and degenerate. 

Ism. What wouldst thou have me do ? defy his power 
Contemn the laws ? 

Ant. To act with me, or not : 

Consider and resolve. 

Ism. What daring deed 

Would'st thou attempt — what is it ? — speak. 

Ant. To join 

And take the body, my Ismene. 

Ism. Ila ! 

And would'st thou dare to bury it, when thus 
We are forbidden ? 

Ant. Ay, to bury uui : 

He is my brother, and thine too, Ismene ; 
Therefore consent or not, I have determined 
I'll not disgrace my birth. 

Ism, Hath not the king 

Pronounced it death to all ? 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ant. He hath no right, 

No power to keep me from my own. 

Ism, A.las ! 

Kemember our unhappy father's fate. 
And last, in one sad day, Eteocles 
And Polynices by each other slain. 
Left as we are, deserted and forlorn, 
What from our disobedience can we hope 
But misery and ruin ? Poor, weak women, 
Helpless, nor formed by nature to contend 
With powerful man. We are his subjects too ; 
Therefore to this, and worse than this, my sister, 
We must submit. For me, in humblest prayer 
Will I address me to the infernal powers 
For pardon of that crime which well they know 
Sprang from necessity, and then obey ; 
Since to attempt that we can never hope 
To execute, is foily all . nd madness. 

Ant. Wert thou to proffer what I do not ask. 
Thy poor assistance, I would scorn it now : 
Act as thou wilt ; Til bury him mvself ; 
Let me perform but that, and death is welcome : 
I'll do the pious deed, and lay me down 
By my dear brother ; loving and beloved 
We'll rest together ; to the powers below 
'Tis fit we pay obedience ; longer there 
We must remain, than we can breathe on earth, 
There I shall dwell for ever ; thou, meantime. 
What the gods hold most precious mayst despise. 

Ism. I reverence the gods ; but, in defiance 
Of laws, and unassisted to do this, 
It were most dangerous. 

Ant. That be thy excuse, 

Whilst I prepare the funeral pile. 

Ism Alas ! 

I tremble for thee 

Ant. Tremble for thyself, 

And not for me. 

Ism. O ! do not tell thy purpose, 

I beg thee, do not ; I shall never betray thee. 

Ant. I'd have it known ; and I shall love thee less 
For thy concealment, than, if loud to all, 
Thou wouldest proclaim the deed. 



231 



!32 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ism. Thou hast a heart 

Too daring, and ill-suited to thy fate. 

Ant. 1 know my duty, and I'll pay it there 
Where 'twill be best accepted. 

Ism. Could'st thou do it ? 

But 'tis not in thy power. 

Ant. When I know that 

It will be time enough to quit my purpose. 

Ism. It cannot be ; 'tis folly to attempt it. 

Ant. Go on, and 1 shall hate thee ; our dead brother. 
He too shall hate thee at^ his bitterest foe ; 
Go, leave me here to suffer for my rashness ; 
Whate'er befalls, it cannot be so dreadful 
As not to die with honour. 

Ism. I'lien farewell, 

Since thou wilt have it so ; and know, Ismene 
Pities thy weakness, but admires thy virtue. 



** Unlamented. This was the judgment which God denounced 
against Jehoiakim, king of Judah : 'they shall not lament for 
him, saying, ah ! my brother, or ah ! sister ; they shall not 
lament for him, saying, ah! lord, or ah ! his glory; he shall 
be buried with the burial of an ass/ &,c. Jerem. 22, v. 18, 19. — 
The customs and manners of the Greeks were originally drawn 
from the eastern nations, which accounts for tliP similitude so 
observable in Sophocles and other heathen writers with some 
parts of holy writ." 



EURiriDES. 

*'The prodigious arman.ent, with which Xerxes invaded 
Greece, is well known : when he was advancing towards Attica, 
to revenge the defeat ot his fatht r's forces ai Marathon, the Athe- 
nians, by the advice of '^Phemistocles. retired with their effects 
toSalamis, Troezene, and ^Esina. Among those who took ref- 
uge atSalamis, were Mnesarchus and Clito, the parents of Euri- 
pides, who was born at that island on the very day in which the 
Grecians there gained that memorable victory ever the Persian 
fleet. His parents educated their son with great attention, and 
at a considerable expense. Besides the athletic exercises, in 
which he excelled, he was taught grammar, music, and painting. 
He applied himself to the study of oratory under the refined anc"' 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



233 



learned Prodicus, who admitted none to his school but the sons 
of great and noble families ; the celebrated Pericles was also 
formed under this excellent master. He studied philosophy with 
Anaxagoras, and contracted an early friendship with Socrates, 
who was twelve years younger than himself, and survived him 
almost six years ; this friendship, formed on the firmest princi- 
ples of virtue and wisdom, and cemented by a similarity of man- 
ners and studies, continued indissoluble. These studies form the 
history of his life from the eighteenth to the seventy-second year 
of his'age, during which time he composed seventy-five tragedies, 
frequently retiring to his native Salamis, and there indulging his 
melancholy muse in a rude and gloomy cavern. 

His reputation was now so illustrious, that Archelaus, king of 
Macedonia, invited him to his court : this monarch, to his many 
royal virtues, added a fondness for literature and the muses, and 
had drawn to him from Greece many who excelled in the polite 
arts, particularly those who were eminent for their learning and 
genius. Euripides, after much and earnest invitation, at length 
complied with the king's request, and went to Pella, where he was 
received wiih every mark of esteem and honour. 

Archelaus knew how to value a man of modesty and wisdom, 
a lover of truth and virtue ; but he particularly admired the dis- 
interestedness, the amiable candour, and gentleness of manner?, 
which distinguished Euripides, and made him worthy of the hb- 
erality, the esteem, and the affection of such a king. In this 
court at this time, among many other eminent men, were Agatho, 
an excellent tragic poet, and honest and agreeable man, a friend 
and admirer of Euripides ; Timotheus, the famous musician ; and 
Teuxus the celebrated painter. In this society Euripides hved 
happy, beloved, and honoured, and died lamented, in the third 
year after his coming to Macedonia, and the seventy-fifth year of 
his age. Archelaus mourned for him as for a near relation, buri- 
ed him among the kings of Macedonia, and erected a magnificent 
monument to his memory. 

The news of his death was brought to Athens as Sophocles 
was about to exhibit one of his tragedies ; he appeared in mourn- 
ing, and made his actors come on the stage without crowns : this 
great poet had long been the intimate friend of Euripides, he was 
then in the ninetieth year of his age, and died about the end of 
this year. The Athenians immediately sent ambassadors to Arch- 
elaus, requesting his permisssion to remove the bones of Euripi- 
des into his own country ; this the king and the Macedonian^ 
firmly refused j as they could not obtain his ashes, they raised a 

20=^ 



234 roExnr for schools. 

cenotaph to their poet, in the way that led from the city to the 
Piraeus." 

IPHIGENIA. 

This interesting female was the daughter of Agamemnon, king 
of Mycenae, and leader of the expedition to Troy. When the 
whole Greek armament had assembled at Aulis, and were ready 
to depart, they were detained by contrary winds. To procure a 
safe departure, a horrible alternative is proposed to Agamemnon 
He thus states it himself. 

" Collected and embodied, here we sit 
Inactive, and from Aulis wish to sail 
In vain. The prophet Calchas, 'midst the gloom 
That darkened on our minds, at length pronounced 
That Iphigenia, my virgin daughter, 
I to Diana, goddess of this land, 
Must sacrifice : this victim given the winds 
Shall swell our sails, and Troy beneath our arms 
Be humbled in tlie dust ; but if denied, 
These things are not to be." 
Agememnon feels himself compelled to make this cruel sacri- 
fice. He acquaints his gentle child with what he deems this fa- 
tal necessity, and her love of life for a while contends against it 
but at length she yields. 

AGAMEMNON, IPHIGENIA, and CLYTEMNESTRA 

ijp/t. Had I, my father, the persuasive voice 
Of Orpheus, and his skill to charm the rocks 
To follow me, and soothe whome'er 1 please 
With winning words, I would make trial of it : 
But I have nothing to present thee now 
Save tears, my only eloquence ; and those 
I can present thee. On thy knees 1 hang, 

A suppliant. 

Ah ! kill me not in youth's fresh prime. 
Sweet is the light of heaven : compel me not 
What is beneath to view. I was the first 
To call thee father, me thou first didst call 
Thy child : I was the first that on thy knees 
Fondly caressed thee, and from thee received 
The fond caress. This was thy speech to me— 
Shall I, my child, ever see thee in some house 
Of splendour, happy in thy husband, live 
And flourish, as becomes my dignity ? 
My speech^to thee was, leaning 'gainst thy cheeK 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Which with my hand I now caress. And what 
Shall I then do for thee ? Soall i receive 
My father when grown old and m my house 
Cheer him with each fond office, to repay 
The careful nurture wnich he >/ave my youth? 
These words are on my ufiinory deep impressed. 
Thou hast forgot them. a»ui wiit kill thy child. 
By Pelops I entreat thee, 'oy thy sire 
Atreus, by this my mother, do not kdl me. 
If Paris be enamoured oi his bride, 
His Helen, what concerns it me, and how 
Comes he to my destruction ? 

Look upon me. 
Give me a smile, give me a kiss, my father, 
That, if my words persuade thee not, in death 
I may have this memorial of thy love. 
My brother, small assistance canst thou give 
Thy friends, yet for thy sister with thy tears 
Implore thy father that she may not die : 
E'en infants have a sense of ills : and see, 
My father, silent though he be, he sues 
To thee : be gentle to me, on my life 
Have pity. Thy two children by this beard 
Entreat thee, thy dear children ; one is yet 
An infant,* one to riper years arrived. 
I will sum all in this, which shall contain 
More than long speech ; to view the light of life 
To mortals is most sweet, but all beneath 
Is nothing : of his senses is he reft 
Who hath a wish to die ; for life, though ill, 
Excels whate'er there is of good in death. 

Aga. What calls for pity, and what not, I know 
I love my children, else I should be void 
Gf reason ; to dare this is dreadful to me, ' 

And not to dare is dreadful. I perforce 
Must do it. What a naval camp is here 
You see, how many kings for Greece arrayed 
In glittering arms : to Iliums' towers are these 
Denied to advance, unless I offer thee 
A victim, thus the prophet Calchas speaks, 
Denied from her foundations to o'erturn 
.Illustrious Troy : and through the Grecian host 
Maddens the fierce desire to sail with speed 
^Gainst the barbarian's land, and check their rage 
* Orestes. 



J3G POETRSr FOR SCHOOLS. 

For Grecian dames : my daughters these will say 
At Argos, you will slay, and me, 
Should I, the goddess not revering, 
Make of none effect her oracle. To this 
Not Menelaus, my child, haih wrought my soul,. 
Nor to his will am I a slave ; but Greece, 
For which, will I, or will 1 not, perforce 
Thee I must sacrifice : my weakness here 
I feel, and must submit. In thee, my child. 
What lies, and what in me, Greece should be free. 
Nor should her sons beneath barbarians bend. 
Their household joys to ruffian force a prey. 

Clyt. Alas, my child ! 
How wretched in thy death ! thy father flies thee, 
lie flies, t»ut dooms thee to the realms beneath. 

Ipli. My mother, hear ye now my words : for tlier 
Offended with thy husband 1 behold : 
Vain anger ! for where force will take its way, 
To struggle is not easy. 

Hear then what to my mind 
Deliberate thought presents : it is decreed * 
For me to die : this then I wish, to die 
With glory, all reluctance banished far. 
My mother, weigh this well, that what I speak 
Is honour's dictate : all the powers of Greece 
Have now their eyes on me ; on me depends 
The sailing of the fleet, the fall of Troy, 
And not to suflfer, should a new attempt 
Be dared, the rude barbarians from blest Greece 
To bear in future times her dames by force, 
This ruin bursting on them for the loss 
Of Helena, whom Paris bore away. 
By dying all these things shall I achieve. 
And blest, for that I have delivered Greece, 
Shall be my fame. 

To be too fond of life 
Becomes not me ; nor for thyself alone, 
But to all Greece a blessing didst thou bear me. 
Shall thousands, when their country's injured, lift 
Their shields, shall thousands grasp the oar, and dar^ , 
Advancing bravely 'gainst the foes, to die 
For Greece ? and shall my life, my single life 
Obstruct all this ? would this be just ? what wt>rtl 
Can we reply ? 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 2 3' 



If me 

The chaste Dinana wills t' accept, shall I, 
A mortal, dare oppose her heavenly will ? 
Vain the attempt : for Greece I give my life. 
Slay me, demolish Troy ; for these sl^all be 
Longtime my monuments, my children thesCj 
My nuptials, and my glory. 

It is meet 
That Greece should o'er barbarians bear the sway, 
Not that barbarians lord U «>ver Greece : 
Nature hath formed thtm ylavt s. the Grecians free. 
iiPHiGENiA and chorus: 

Iph. Lead me : mine the glonous fate 
To o'er turn the Phrygian stati ! 
Ilium's towers rheir head shall bow. 
With garlands bind ;;y hr«nv, 
Bring them, be these tresses crowned. 
Round the shrme, the altar round 
Bear the lavers, which you fill 
From the pure iransiucent rill. 
High your choral voices raise, 
Tuned to hymn Diana's praise. 
Blest Diana, royai maid. 
Since the fates demand my aid, 
I fulfil their awful power 
By my slaughter, by my gore. 

Chor. Reverenced, reverenced, mother, now 
Thus for thee our tears shaJl flow ; 
For unhallowed would a rear 
'Midst ihe solemn rites appear. 

Iph. Swell the notes, ye virgin train. 
To Diana swell the btrain. 
Queen of Chalcis, adverse land. 
Queen of Aulis. on whose strand. 
Winding to a narrow bay. 
Fierce to take its angry way, 
Waits the war and cahs on me 
Its retarded fo.-ce to free 
O my country, where xh^se eyes 
Opened on Pei;isgic skies ! 
O ye virgins, once njy pride, 
In Mycenae who reside ! 



236 POETRY FOR SCHOOL?. 

Clior. Why of Perseu3 name the town, 
Wliich Cyclopean rampires crown ? 

Iph. Me you reared— a beam of light : 
Freely now I sink in night. 

Chor. And for this, immortal fame, 
Virgin, shall attend thy name. 

Iph Ah, thou beaming lamp of day, 
Jove-born, bright etherial ray. 
Other regions we await. 
Other life, and other fate ! 
Farewell, beauteous lamp of day, 
Farewell, bright etherial ray ! 

Chor. See, she goes : her glorious fate 
To overturn the Phrygian state : 
Soon the wreaths shall bmd her brow ; 
Soon the iust'al waters flow ; 
Soon that beauteous neck shall feel 
Piercing deep the fatal steel. 
And ihe ruthless altar o er 
Sprinkle drops of gushing gore. 
By thy father's dread command 
There the cleansing lavers stand : 
There in arms the Grecian powers 
Burn to march 'gainst Ilium's towers. 
But our voices let us raise, 
Tuned to hymn Diana's praise, 
Virgin daughter she of Jove, 
Queen among the gods above. 
That with conquest and renown 
She the arms of Greece may crown. 



Not Menelaus, hut Greece, hath wrought my mind to this. 
Not the persuasions of Menelaus, but the dreaded vengeance 
of the Greeks upon us, if by forbearing to sacrifice thee, I should 
frustrate their present designs, determines me to this unnatural 
act. 

The Hebrew scriptures record a sacrifice similar to this in 
that of Jeptha's daughter. 

The persuasive voice of Orpheus^ Orpheus was a fabulous 
musician. It was pretended that the music of his voice and his 
lyre was so enchanting that rocks wore animated, and rivers ceas- 
ed to flow at the sound. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 239 

Compel me not what is beneath to view. The pagan notion of 
death, as has been before observed, was that of descent, of dark- 
ness, and of doubt. It is the most welcome trpth of Christianity, 
that it brings life and immortality to light ; and since the establish- 
ment of Christianity, the idea of the state after death includes 
that of purer elements than those of earth, and of powers to ex- 
patiate more extensively amidst the wonders of the universe. 

Queen of Chalcis and of Aulis. Diana was the guardian god- 
dess of these adverse, that is, opposite cities — the lormer on the 
coast of Euboea, and the latter on that of Greece. 



SOUTHEiT. 



Hobert Southey is among the most distinguished of living au- 
thors, in the various departments of Poetry, History, and Biogra- 
phy. His poetic talent has been chiefly displayed in the Epic— • 
Thalaba, Madoc, the Curse of Kehama, and Roderick, the Last 
of the Goths, are his principal poems. The lasi mentioned of 
these is the greatest favourite of the public, and deserves to be so. 

The poem of Roderick. <fec. is founded, as the name imports, 
upon the history of the last Gothic King of Spain, Upon the dis- 
memberment of the Roman Empire, Hispania, the mo(^ern Spain, 
was taken by those northern barbarians called Goths. The Goths 
established there a regal government, which subsisted from A. 
D. 411 to A. D. 712. Roderick, the Last of the Goths, had a 
private quarrel with a distinguished nobleman of his court, and 
the latter, indignant against the king, conspired with the Moors, 
a nation of the opposite shores of Africa, to dethrone Roderick 
and surrender the sovereignty to the Moors. 

The authenticity of this statement of the origin of the Moorish 
conquest of Spain is disputed — but it is the tradition of the Moors 
and Spaniards, and upon the assumed fact, Mr. Southey has 
founded his poem. Many of Roderick's subjects remained faith- 
ful to him, but multitudes rebelled, and after a battle with the 
Moors and the rebels, Roderick is said to have disappeared, and 
never to have been found again, A. D. 712. 

The most faithful adherent of Roderick was Pelayo, a prince 
of his blood, who became the founder of a new kingdom, that of 
Asturia. The following account of Pelayo, is taken from a 
French, Abrege deV lEstoire d"* Espagne. " Pelayo seeking 
liberty, and preferring a desert to a state of bondage, led a few 
faithful followers to a sequestered spot enclosed by rocks in the 
interior of Asturia. Being a man of t&lent and integrity, he ac? 



240 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

quired an absolute ascendancy over his friends, and they appoint- 
ed him their king. His subjects were few, and his territory bar- 
ren rocks ; butthe men were r.tith!'ul and courageous. — Their asy- 
lum was discovered and invaHed by the Moors, but the refugees 
defended themselves ; and from this commencement originated 
the kingdom of Asturia, long one of the most powerful in Spain. 
Pelayo died in A. D. 737." 

It may here be remarked that under the Moors, Spain was dc- 
\ided into several sovereignties. Kings of Asturia, of Oviedo, 
of Arragon, of Castile and Leoi<, are numbered among the Prin- 
ces of Spain. From the extinction of the Gothic kingdom to the 
accession of Philip II. A. D. 1655, these separate principahties 
subsisted, but all Spain acknt.wledged Philip, and received the 
laws of Madrid. 

Mr. Southey supposes that immediately after his defeat Roderick 
sought a profound solitude, and in tfiih situation he describes him. 
Roderick was accompanied m his fvjr^cealment by Romano, an 
old man, who died and left the unhappy k)ng alone. — Roderick 
had been guilty of a crmie, and lus self reproach aggravated his 
affliction. 

RODERICK IN SOLITUDE. 

The fourth week of their painful pilgrimage 
Was full, when they arrived where from the land 
A rocky hill, rising with steep ascent, 
O'erhung the glitfenn^ beach ; there on the top 
A little lowly hermitage they found, 
And a rude cross, and at its foot a grave, 
Bearing no name nor other monument. 
Where better could they rest t!;an here, where faith 
And secret penitence and happiest death 
Had blest the spot, and brought good angels down, 
And opened as it were a way to Heaven ? 
Behind them was the desert, offering fruit 
And water for their need ; on either side 
The white sand sparkling to the sun ; in front 
Great Ocean with its everlasting voice, 
As in perpetual jubilee, proclaimed 
The wonders of the Almighty, filling thus 
The pauses of their fervent orisons. 
Where better could the wanderers rest than here ? 

Twelve months they sojourned in their solitude; 
And then beneath the burthen of old age 



rOETEY FOR SCHOOLS . 341 

Romano sunk. No brethren were there 

To sprearl the sackcloth, and with ashes strew 

The penitential bed, and gather round 

To sing his requiem, and with prayer and psalm 

x\ssist him in his hour of agony. 

He lay on the bare earth which long had been 

His only couch ; beside him Roderick knelt, 

Moistened from time to time his blackened lips, 

Received a blessing with his latest breath, 

Then closed his eyes, and by the nameless grave 

Of the fore-tenant of that holy place 

Consigned -him earth to earth. 

Two graves are here, 
And Roderick transverse at their feet began 
To break the third. In all his intervals 
Of prayer, save only when he search'd the woods 
And fiird the water-cruise, he labour'd there ; 
And when the work was done, and he had laid 
Himself at length within its narrow sides 
And measured it, he shook his head to think 
There was no other business now for him. 
Poor wretch, thy bed is ready, he exclaim'd, 
And would that night were come ! ... It was a task,. 
All gloomy as it was, which had beguiled 
The sense of solitude ; but now he felt 
The burthen of the solitary hours: — 
The silence of that lonely hermitage 
Lay on him like a spell ; and at the voice 
Of his own prayers, he started, half aghast. 

Then too, as on Romano's grave he sate 
And pored upon his own, a natural thought 
Arose within him,. . well might he have spared 
That useless toil : the sepulchre would be 
No hiding place for him ; no Christian hands 
Were here who siiould compose his decent corpse 
And cover it with earth. There he might drag 
His wretched body at its passing hour, 
And there the sea-birds of her heritage 
Would rob the worm, or peradventure seize, 
Ere death had done its work, their helpless prey. 
Even now they did not fear him : when he walk'd 
Beside them on the beach, regardlessly 
They saw his coming ; and their whirling wings 

21 



^42 rOETRY FCR SCHOOLS. 

Upon the height had sometimes fann'd his cheek. 
As if, bcmg thus alone, humanity 
Had lost its rank, and the prerogative 
Ol" man vras done away. 

For his lost crown 
And sceptre had he never felt a thought 
Of pain : repentance had no pangs to spare 
For trifles such as these, — the loss of these 
"Was a cheap penalty : — that he had fallen 
Down to tho lowest depth of wretchedness, 
His hope and consolation. But to lose 
His human station in the scale of things, — 
To see brute Nature scorn him, and renounce 
Its homage to the human form divine ; — 
Had then almighty vengeance thus revealed 
His punishment, and was he fallen indeed 
Below fallen man. 

Oh for a voice 
Of comfort, — for a ray of hope from heaven: 
A hand that from these billows of despair 
May reach and snatch him ere he sink engulphcd 
At length, as life wiien it hath lain long time 
Opprest beneath some grievous malady, 
Seems to rouse up with re-collected strength. 
And the sick man doth feel within himself 
A second spring ; so Roderick's better mind 
Arose to save him. Lo ! the western sun 
Flames o'er the broad Atlantic ; on the verge 
Of glowing ocean rests ; retiring then 
Draws with it all its rays, and sudden night 
Fills the whole cope of heaven. The penitent 
Knelt by Romano's grave, and, faUing prone, 
Claspt with extended arms the funeral mould. 

Father I he cried ; companion, only friend. 
When all beside was lost ! thou too art gone, 
And the poor sinner whom from utter death 
V Thy providential hand preserved, once more 
Totters upon the gulf. I am too weak 
For solitude, — too vile a wretch to bear 
This everlasting commune with myself. 

Despair hath laid the nets 
To take my soul, and Memory, like a ghost 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^'^^ 

ilaunts me, and drives me to the toils. O Saint, 
While I vvas blest with thee, the hermitage 
Was my sure haven 1 Look upon me still ; 
For from thy heavenly mansion thou canst see 
Thy suppliant ; look upon thy child in Christ, 

Romano 1 Father ! let me hear thy voice 
In dreams, O samted soul I or from the grave 
Speak to thy pemtent ; even from the grave 
Thine were a voice of comfort. 

Thusne cri^d, 
Easing the pressure of his burthened heart 
With passionate prayer ; thus poured his spirit forth 
Till the long effort had exhausted him. 
His spirit failed, and laying on the grave 
His weary head, as on a pillow, sleep 
Fell on him. He had prayed to hear a voice 
Of consolatipn, and in dreams a voice 
Of consolation came. Roderick, it said, — 
Koderick, my poor, unhappy, sinful child, 
Jesus have mercy on thee!— Not if heaven 
Had opened, and Rooiano, visible 
In his beatitude, had breathed that prayer ;-^ 
Not if the grave had spoken, had it pierced 
So deeply in his soul, nor wruni2 his heart 
With such compunctious visitings, nor given 
Bo quick, so keen a pang. It was that voice 
Which sung his fretful infancy to sleep 
So patiently ; which soothed his childish griefs :, 
Counselled with anguish and prophetic tears, 
His headstrong youth. And lo ! his motJier stood 
Before him in the vision. 

PELAYO AND HIS CHILDREN'. 

The ascending vale. 
Long straitened by the narrowing mountains, here 
Was closed. In front a rock, abrupt and bare, 
Stood eminent, in height exceeding far 
All edifice of human power, by king 
Or caliph, or barbaric sultan reared^ 
Or mightier tyrants of the world of old, 
Assyrian or Egyptian, in their pride : 
Yet far above, beyond the reach of sight, 
.--^well after swell, the heathery mountain rose. 



244 V roKTRY ron schools. 

Here, in two sources, from the living rock 

The everlasting springs of Deva gushed. 

Upon a smooth and grassy plat below, 

By nature there as for an altar drest, 

They joined their sister stream, which from the earth 

Welled silently. 

In such a scene rude man 
With pardonable error might have knelt, 
Feeling a present Deity, and made 
His ofl'ering to the fountain nymph devout. 
Tiie arching rock disclosed above the springs 
A cave, where hugest son of giant birth, 
That e'er of old in forest of romance 
'Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war 
Erect within the portal might have stood. 
No holier spot than Covadonga, Spain 
Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realm.s . 
Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom 
In elder or in later days enriched, 
And glorified with tales of heavenly aid 
By many a miracle made manifest ; 
Nor in tiie heroic annals of her fame 
Dcth she show forth a scene of more renown. 
Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit 
Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd's boy. 
Following the pleasure of his straggling flock. 
None knew the place. 

Pelayo, when he saw 
Those glittering sources and their sacred cave, 
Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt, 
And with a breath long drawn and slow expired 
Sent forth that strain. which, echoing from the wall^ 
Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return 
When from the chase he came. At the first sound 
Favila started in the cave, and cried, 
My father's horn 1 — A sudden flame siflfused 
Herinesind's cheek, and she with quickened eye 
Looked eager to her mother silently ; 
But Gaudiosa trembled and grew pale. 
Doubting her sense deceived. A second time 
The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad ; 
And Hermesind around her mother's neck 
Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaimed 



]?O^.TRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^^ 

Tis he !— But when a Uurd and broader blast 
Rung in the echoing archway, ne'er did wand, 
With magic power endued, call up a sight 
So strange, as sure in that wild solitude 
It seemed, when from the bowels of the rock 
The mother and her children hastened forth. 

She in the sober charms and dignity 
Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet 
Upon decay : in gesture like a queen, 
Such inborn and habitual majesty 
Ennobled all her steps,— or priestess, chosen 
Because within such faultless work of heaven 
Inspiring Deity might seem to make 
Its habitation known.— Favila such 
In form and stature as the Sea Nymph's son» 
When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased 
Beheld the boy divine his growing strength 
Against some shaggy lionet essay, 
And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands. 
Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwined. 

But like a creature of some higher sphere 
His sister came ; she scarcely touched the rock. 
So hght was Hermesind's aerial speed. 
Beauty and grace and innocence in her 
In heavenly union shone. One who had held 
The faith of elder Greece, would sure have thought 
She WHS some glorious nymph of seed divine, 
Oread or Dryad, of Diana's train 
The youngest and the loveliest : yea she seemed 
Angel, or soul beatified, from realms 
Of bliss, on errand of parental love 
To earth re-sent,— if tears and trembling limbs 
With such celestial natures might consist. 

Favila such 
In form and stature as the Sea Nymph's son^ 
When that wise Centaur, &c. 
Achilles, the son of Thetis, a sea nymph, was educated in 
Thessaly by Chiron the Centaur. Favila, the son and successor 
of Pelayo, is here compared with the young Achilles. 

The faith of elder Greece. This religion has been descnbeil 
^ith considerable effect by Mr. Percival, an American poet, 

21* 



-'1^' rOETRY FOR SCHOOL!; 



RELIGION OP GREECJ^. 



There was a lime, when tlio o'erhanging sk\\ 
And the fair eartli with its variety, 
Mountain and valley, continent and sea, 
Were not alone the unmoving things that lie 
Slumbering beneath the sun's unclouded eye : 
But every fountain had its spirit then, 
That held communion oft with holy men, 
And frequent from the heavenward mountain came 
Bright creatures, hovering round on wings of flame 
And some myst erious sybil darkly gave 
Responses from the dim and hidden cave : 
Voices were heard waking the silent air, 
A solemn music echoed from the wood, 
And often from the bosom of the flood 
Came forth a sportive Naiad passing fair, 
The clear drops twinkling in her braided hair 
And as the hunter through the forest strayed, 
Quick-glancing beauty shot across the glade, 
Her polished arrow levelled on her bow, 
Ready to meet the fawn or bounding roe. 

Each lonely spot was hallowed then — the oak 
That o'er the village altar hung, would tell 
Strange hidden things ; — the old remembered well; 
How from its gloom a spirit often spoke. 
There was not then a fountain or a cave, 
But had its revered oracle, and gave 
Responses to the fearful crowd, who came 
And called the indwelling deity by name ; 
Then every snowy peak, that lifted high 
Its shadowy cone to meet the bending sky, 
Stood like a heaven of loveliness and light : — 
And as the gilt cloud rolled its glory by, 
Chariots and steeds of flame stood harnessed there, 
And gods came forth and seized the golden reins, 
Shook the bright scourge, and through the boundless ui. 
Rode over starry fields and azure plains. 

It was a beautiful and glorious dream, 
Such as would kindle high the soul of song. 
AU seemed one bright enchantment then j—butno\\ 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 24' 

Since the long sousht for goal of truth is won, 
Nature stands forth unveiled with cloudless brow. 
On earth One Spirit of Life, in heaven Oin'e. 



HEAVENLY LOVE. 

They sin who tell us Love can die. 

With life all other passions fly. 
All others are but vanity. 
In heaven Ambition cannot dwell, 
Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell : 
Earthly these passions of the earth, 
They perish where they have their birth 
But Love is indestructable. 

Its holy flame for ever burneth, 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth .: 
Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 
At times deceived at times opprest, , 

It here is tried and purified, 
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest 5 

It soweth here with toil and care. 
But the harvest time of Love is there. 

SOUTIIEY. 
LORD BYRON. 

George Gordon, Lord Bvron, was an English nobleman, des 
cended from Commodore Byron, the celebrated navigator. Lorti 
Byron died at Misselonghi in Greece, April 1824, at the age ot 
thirty-seven. He was distinguished at an early period of his life 
for his poetical talents, and his genius, if it has not madeTfnen 
better, has opened a source of pleasure to the readers of poe- 
try, which once enjoyed is never forgotten. 

Lord Byron had not a well governed mind, and, though he 
was born to great opulence, and possessed all the resources ot 
knowledge, taste, and cuUivated society, he was not happy. 
His serious poetry is sad and bitter, and his gayer produetions are 
immoral ; but there are many parts of his writing of a high char- 
acter. His strong passions, "and his dark views of human nature^ 
cannot be understood bv young readers, but his better feelings, 
and his fine descriptive 'talent, afford some passages which are 
higldy interesting to them. 

The passages of Lord Byron's poetry which immediately suC^ 



248 POF.TRY FOR scirooLs. 

cced, have as much life as sentiment, and on that account Ihcy 
are best adapted to t!ie comprehension and sympathies of young 
])ersons. Two only, Night at Corinth and Turkey, are purely 
descriptive. 

NIGHT AT CORINTH. 

In 1715, Corinth, situated on the Isthmus of tliat name, bein^^ 
in possession of the Venetians, was besieged by the Turks. Lord 
Byron describes the delicious nights of that fine climate in h\> 
poem, the Siege of Corinth. The night described is that pre- 
vious to the taking of Cormth, while the Turkish army surround- 
ed its walls. 

" 'Tis midnight : on ihe mountains brown 
The cold round moon shines deeply down ; 
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
Spread like an ocean hung on high, 
Bespangled with those isles of light,* 
So wildly, spiritually bright ; 
Who ever gazed upon them shining, 
And turned to earth without repining, 
Nor wishM for wings to flee away, 
And mix with their eternal ray ? 
The waves on either shore lay there 
Calm, clear, and azure as the air ; 
And scarce, their foam the pebbles shook 
But murmured meekly as the brook. 
The winds were pillowed on the waves ; 
The banners drooped along their staves, 
And, as they fell around them furling, 
Above them shone the crescent curling ; 
And that deep silence was unbroke. 
Save where the watch his signal spoke, 
Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill. 
And echo answered from the hill, 
And the wiid hum of that wild host 
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air 
In midnight call to wonted prayer." 

The Muezzin's voice. The Turks do not use bells to summoii 
the religious to their devotions. They have an appointed person, 
whose function it is to send forth to the extent of his voice, th^.- 
call to wonted prayer, 

* The stars , 



POETRY von SCHOOLS. . 249 



DECAPITATION OF HUGO. 



The marquis of Este, the sovereign of Ferrara in Italy, had a 
son named Hugo, and a beautiful young wife called Parasina.— 
1 his lady loved Hugo better than his father, and was equally be* 
loved by the young man. When the marquis was fully convinc- 
ed of this fact, he ordered Hugo and Parasina to be beheaded, 
and the sentence was executed, according to Lord Byron's au- 
thority, about 1405. The execution of Hugo is described in the 
poem of Parasina. 

'' The Convent bells are ringing, 

But mournfully and slow ; 
In the gray square turret swinging, 

With a deep sound, to and fro. 
Heavily to the heart they go ! 

Hark ! the hymn is singing — 
The song for the dead below, 

Or the living who shortly shall be so ! 
For a departing being's soul 
The death-hymn peals and the hollow-bells knoll 
He is near his mortal goal 
Kneeling at the Friar's knee ; 
Sad to hear — and piteous to see 
Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
With the block before and the guards around — 
While the crowd in a speechless circle gather 
To see the Son fall by the doom of the father. 

It is a lovely hour as yet 
Before the summer sun shall set, 
Which rose upon that heavy day. 
And mocked it with his steadiest ray ; 
And his evening beams are shed 
Full on Hugo's faied head, 
As his last confession pouring 
To the monk, his doom deploring 
In penitential holiness 
He bends to hear his accents bless 
With absolution such as mav 
Wipe our mortal stains away. 

That high suri on his head did glisten 
As he there did bow and listen— 
And the rings of chestnut liair 



^60 jrOFTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Curled iialf down his neck so bare ; 
But brighter still the beam was thrown 
Upon the axe which near liim shone 
With a clcrtr and ghastly glitter — 
Oh that parting hour was bitter ! 
Even the stern stood chilled with awe : 
Dark the crime, and just tho law — 
Yet they shuddered as they saw. 

The parting prayers are said and over 
Of that false son and daring lover ! 
His beads and sins are all recounted, 
His hours to their last minute mounted — 
His mantling cloak before was stripped, 
His bright brown locks must now be clipped ; 
Tis done — all closely arc they slic»rn — 
The vest which till this muir.enf worn — 
The scarf which Parasina L-ave — 
31ust not adorn hiin to the grave. 
Even that must now be thrown aside, 
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 
But no — that last indignity 
Shall ne'er approa-h his haughty eye. 
' No — yours mv forfeit blood and breath — 
These hands are chained — but let me die 
At least with an unshackled eye — 
Strike :' — and as the word he said. 
Upon the block he bowed his head ; 
These the last accents Hugo spoke : 
' Strike' — and flashmg fell t!ie stroke — • 
Rolled the head — and, gushing, sunk 
Back the stained and heaving trunk, 
In the dust, which each deep v<Mn 
Slacked with its ensanguined rain ; 
His eyes and lips a moment quiver, 
Convulsed and quick — then fix forever/" 

THE ^RISO^'ER OF CIIILLON. 

The Prisoner of Chillon is a sweet and touching poern. "Cliil- 
ion is a ruined castle on tlie lake of Geneva in Switzerland, in the 
dungeon of which three gallant brothers were confined, each 
chained to a separate pillar, till, after years of anguish, the two 
younger died, and were buried under the cold floor of the prison. 
The eldest was at length liberated, when worn out with age and 



POETRY FOS SCHOOLS. ^ifl 

misery— and is supposed, in his joyless liberty, to tell, in this 
poeni, the sad story of his imprisonment." 

The annexed verses describe the sympathy of the unhappy 
brothers, the peculiar loveliness of the youngest, and the bitter- 
ness of sorrow v/ith which the survivor deplored the fate of this 
<' blooming Benjamin of the family." 

*' We could not move a single pace, 

We could not see each other's face, 

But with that pale and livid light 

That made us strangers in our sight ; 

And thus together — yet apart 

Fettered in hand, but pined in heart ; 

'Twas still some solace in the dearth 

Of the pure elements of earth, 

To hearken to each other's speech, 

And each turn comforter to each, 

With some new hope, or legend old. 

Or song heroically bold ; 

But even these at length grew cold. 

Our voices took a dreary tone. 

An echo of the dungeon-stone, 
A grating sound — not full and free 
As they of yore were wont to be : 
It might be fancy — but to me 

They never sounded like our own. 
# ■» * * * * 

I was the eldest of three. 
And to uphold and cheer the rest 
1 ought to do — and did my best-— 
And each did well in his degree. 
The youngest, whom my father loved, 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 
For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distrest 
To see such bird in such a nest ;" 
He was the favourite and the flower, 
Most cherished since his natal hour 
His mother's image in fair face. 
The infant love of all his race. 
His martyred father's dearest thought; 
My latest care, for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might be 



?52 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS . 

Less wretched now, and one day free : 
He, too, who yet had held untired 
A spirit natural or inspired — 
He, too, was struck, and day by day 
Was« withered on the stalk away. 

Oh God ! it is a fearrnl thing 
To see the human soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood : — 
I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion ; 
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
Of sin delirious with its dread : 
But these were horrors— This was wo 
Unmixe ; with such — but sure and slow ; 
He faded, and so cahn and meek. 
So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 
So tearless, yet so tender — kind. 
And grieved for those he left behind ; 
With all the while a cheek whose bloom 
Was as a mockery of the tomb, 
Whose tints as gently sunk away 
As a departini^ rainbow's ray — 
An eye of most transparent I'ght 
That almost made the dungeon bright. 
And not a word of murmur — not 
A groan o'er his untimely lot. 

A little talk of better days, 
A little hope my own to raise. 
For I was sunk in silence — lost 
In this last loss, of all the most ; 
And then fhe sighs he would suppress 
Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
More slowly drawn, grew less and less : 
I listened but I could not hear — 
I called, for I was wild with fear ; 
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 
Would not be thus admonished ; 
I called, and thought I heard a sound — 
I burst my chain with one strong bound. 
And rushed to him : — I found him not, 
I only stirred in this black spot, ,; 

/ only lived — / only drew 
The accursed breath of duno'eon dew." 



I'OETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



TURKEY. 



Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? 

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; 

Where the light wmgs of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume ; 

Wax faint o'er the y;ardens of Gul* in her bloom ; 

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute : 

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky. 

In colour though varied, in beauty may vie. 

And the purple of ocean is deepest in oye ; 

Where the virgrins are soft as the roses ihey twine, 

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 

'Tis the clime of the east ; 'tis the land of the Sun — 

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ; 

Oh ! wild as the accents of lover's farewel 

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they telK 



VISION OP BELSHAZZAR. 

The king was ori his throne. 

The satraps thronged the hall ; 
A thousand bright lamps shone 

O'er that high festival. 
A thousand cups of gold, 

In Judah deemed divine — 
Jehovah's vessels hold 

The godless heathen's w'mel 

In that same hour and hall, 

The fingers of a hand 
Come forth against the wall, 

And wrote as if on sand : 
The fingers of a man ; — 

A solitary hand 
Along the letters ran, 

And traced them like a wand. 

* Gul.- The rose. 



254 rOETKY FOR SCIIOOIS. 

Tho monarch saw, an4 shook, 

A nd baJe no more rejoice ; 
All bloodless waxed his look, 

And tremulous his voice. 
" Let the men of lore appear. 

The wisest of the earth, 
An(i i^xpoiind the words of fear. 

Which mar our royal mirth.'' 

Chnldea's seers are good, 

P»'jt here they have no skill ; 
x\nd the unknown letters stood 

Uritnld and avvful still. 
And r?abei's men of age 

Are wise and deep in lore ; 
X But now they were not sage, 

They saw — but knew no more, 

A captive in the land, 

A stranger and a youth. 
He heard the king's command, 

He saw that writing's truth, 
The lamps around were brigljt, 

Tlie prophecy in view ; 
He read it on that night, — 

The morrow proved it true. 

^' Beishazzar's grave is made, 

His kingdom passed away, 
He, in the balance weighed, 

Ts light and worthless clay. 
The sliroud his robe of state, 

His canopy the stone ; 
The Mede is at his gate ! 

The Persian on his throne T' 



In the fifth chapter of the prophecy of Daniel, the feast ofBeJ- 
sliaz2;ar, and the end of the Babylonian empire, which terminated 
in him, are recorded ; but there is a vividness in Lord Byron's 
imitation of that passage which gives new power to the original. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 



To comprehend the verses which the following facts are de- 
L^igned to illustrate, it is necessary they should be known. The 
verses relate especially to tne memorable battle of Waterloo — a 
battle which put an end to the military career of rfapoleon Bona- 
parte, and gave peace to Europe. Bonaparte was a native of the 
islandof Corsica, and, in his early life, an officer of engineers 
in the French service : his military talents at length raised him 
to the chief command of the French armies. 

Bonaparte subjected all the civil affairs of France to military 
power, caused himself to be declared First Consul, and after- 
wards Emperor of France, and King of Italy. He did not limit 
his ambition to the government of France and Italy, but actually- 
conquered Svvitzerland, Holland, and the greater part of Germany. 
He united the Netherlands to France, made one of his brothers 
king of Holland, another of Naples, a third of Westphalia, 
and bestowed upon princes of Germany the titles of Kings 
of Bavaria, Saxony, and Wirtemburg". He invited the King 
of Spain to visit him, made him a prisoner, and in 1808 placed 
his brother Joseph on the throne of Spain. 

Bonaparte's insatiable thirst of dominion prompted him in 1812 
to invade Russia at the head of 600,000 troops : but the severity 

I of a Russian winter, and the defensive power of the Russians, 
gave the first check to his conquering spirit. In this campaign 

: 100,000 men of the French army were made prisoners, and 200,- 
000 perished by cold, famine, and the sword. 

I The different independent governments of Europe took advan- 
tage of these disasters in order to restore independence and poh- 

I tical liberty to the subjugated countries. The monarchs of Great 
Britain, Russia, Prussia, Austria, and Sweden, formed a confeder- 
acy to dethrone Bonaparte, and to restore to the several usurped 

! thrones, members of famihes which had formerly held the sovcr- 

I eignity of the different states. This alliance is often called the 

! Holy Alliance — as a compact of defenders of the rights of kings. 
and, as the allied powers professed, of protectors of religion and 
morals. The armies of these sovereigns — the combined forces 
which acted under the command of generals from each of the al- 
lied states, was called the Allied Army. 

The allied army entered Paris and took possession of it on the 
18th March, 1814. Bonaparte consequently fled, and retired to 
the island of Elba in the Mediterranean ; but he quitted his re- 
treat on the 1st March, 1815, and at the head of the French army 
which flocked to liis standard he re-entered Paris amidst acclamn' 



?5G POETRY FOR SCHOOL?. 

lions of Vive rEmpereiir. The allied army was prepared to de- 
fend the rights of the Bourbons. — During? the absence of Bona- 
parte, Louis XVIIl, brother to Louis XV'l, (a King of Franco 
beheaded in 1793,) was placed on the throne of France, and to 
restore hitn to his late assumed dignity was an immediate purpose 
of the allied powers. 

Bonaparte encountered the allied army near Brussels in Belgi- 
um. On the 15th of June he defeated the Prussians ; on the 16tli 
he obtained some advantages over the British ; but on the 18tli 
Iiis army was completely defeated in the battle of waterlog. 
The French army under Bonaparte consisted of 75,000 French- 
men. The troops under Lord Wellington, 35,000 English and 
Scots, and the rest, of German contingents, formed, in point of 
numbers, a nearly equal force. 

" The loss on the British side during this nreadful battle," to 
borrow the words of Sir Walter Scott, was " immense. — One 
iiundred officers slain, five hundred wounded many of them to 
death, fifteen thousand men killed and wounded, threw half Brit- 
ain into morning." It is supposed tiiat about 35,000 French 
perished at Waterloo, — or in consequence of the battle. It was 
said that the English officers, when news came to them of the 
advance of Bonaparte, were at a bail at Brussels. Lord Byron 
lias commemorated this circumstance in Childe Haroldc. 



THE BALL OF BRUSSELS. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 

And Belgium's capital had gathered then 

Her beauty and her cliivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 

Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 

And all went merry as a marrage-bell ; 

But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before I 



rOETRt FOR scnooLS. -^< 

Irm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar I 
Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near.. 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone can quell : 
ile rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which never might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Housed up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips— '-'The foe ! they 

come ! they come I" 
And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ; 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so filled the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years. 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clans- 

man's ears ! 
And Ardennes waves above them her green leavers 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aughtjnanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas 1 



158 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold 
and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 

The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 

Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 

The earth is covered thick with other clay. 

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 

Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent 



Brunswick's fated chieftain. The Duke of Brunswick, a Ger- 
man prince, killed in the action. 

The " CamerorC s gathering^'' rose. This alludes to the music 
of the Scottish troops. They distinguish themselves always ag 
soldiers, for they bring the most noble principles of duty and pa- 
triotism into the service. An interesting moral view of the High- 
land soldiery is afli"orded by Mrs. Grant, in her Essay on the Su- 
perstitions of the Highlanders. 

E'oan's and Donald's fame. Sir Evan Cameron and his des- 
cendant Donald, chiefs of the Camerons, beloved and cherished 
in the memory of their clansmen. 

Ardennes' waves above them her green leaves. 
^' The wood of Soignies, near the field of Waterloo, is suppos- 
ed to be a remnant of the ' forest of Ardennes,' famous in Boiar- 
do's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's ' As you like it.' It 
is also celebrated in Tacitus as being the spot of successful de- 
fence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments." 



WORDSWORTH. 



Of living Poets there is not one whose moral feelings, as they 
are exhibited in his verses, more entitle him to the respect of man- 
kind than Mr. Wordsworth. This gentleman resides in the North 
Hf England. He loves the rural hfe, and exhibits it delightfully 
In his poetry ; and the benevolence of his heart is as remarkably 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 259 

connected, with his poetic talent as the purest spirit of devotion, 
and the finest enjoyment of external nature. The Bee, the Soli 
tary Reaper, and the Deserted I>idian Woman, are the only ex- 
tracts from Wordsworth's poetry wnich there is room to insert in 
this volume. 

THE BEE. 

" the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee^ 

— A slender sound ! yet hoary Time 
Doth to his soul exalt it with the chime 
Of all his years ; — a company 
Of ages coming, ages gone ; 
(Nations from before them sweeping, 
Ilegions in destruction steeping,) 
But every awful note in unison 
With that faiut utterance, which tells 
Of treasure sucked from buds and bells 
For the pure keeping of those waxen ceils ; 
Where she, a prudent statist to confer 
Upon the public weal ; a warrior bold — 
Radiant all over with unburnished gold : 
And armed with Uving spear for mortal fight ; 

A cunning forager 

That spreads no waste ; — a social builder ; one 

In whom all offices unite 

With all fine functions that afford delight, 

Safe through the winter storm in quiet dwells \ 

And is she brought within the power 

Of vision ? — o'er this temptmg flower 

Hovering until the petals stay 

Her flight, and take its voice away ! 

Observe each wing— -a tiny van ! 

The structure of her laden thigh 

How fragile ! — yet of ancestry 

Mysteriously remote and high — 

High as the imperial front of man, 

The roseate bloom on woman's cheek ; 

The soaring eagle's curved beak ; 

The white plumes of the floating swan ; 

Old as the tyger's paws, the lion's mane 

Ere shaken by that mood of stern disdain 

At which the desert trembles. 
Humming bee! 

The sting was needless then, perchance unkno^fn ; 

The seeds of malice were not sgwn j 



,^^^^J RY roR schools. 

All creatures met in peace from fierceness freCj 
And no pride bl«nded with llieir dignity. 

Tears had not broken from their source ; 
Nor anguish strayed from her Tartarian den, 
Tlie golden years maintained a course 
Not undiversified, tliough smooth and even ; 
We were not mocked with glimpse and shadow thci. 
Bright seraphs mixed familiarly with men ; 
And earth and siars composed a universal heaven. 

In these verses Mr. Wordsworth suggests a comparison between 
the history of mankind, and the lower animals. Regarding par- 
ticular races of men, in respect to the countries they once inhab- 
ited— na/io/i6' truly are swef)t away, and regions are steeped in 
destruction. The glories of ancient Greece, and the misery and 
degradation of that country under the Turkish government — the 
miUtary prowess and political power of r<'publican Rome, and the 
feebleness and anarchy of modern Italy, afford awful contrasts of 
former elevation and present Wegener icy of national character, 
But animal life exhibits no such gloomy views — the same faculties 
and enjoyments now exist in the lower orders of life " When the 
eaMe from the ark" exulted in the reconciled face of Heaven. 
A°es rollawav, and neither improvement nor corruption modifies 
the powers and pleasures of those humbler objects of God's good- 
ness, who partake with us in all the luxuries of earthly elements ; 
and, if we believe the scriptures, the date of whose existancc is 
coeval with ours — therefore their voices speak to us of all antiqui- 
ty, and the past years oHioartj Time are commcinmorated by the 
faint utternicc of an insect's hum — for that very sound Jias been 
propagated by innumerable multiplications ever since Adam gave 
names to every Uving creature. 

The beautiful economy of bees has always been a theme for 
admiration to the lovers of nature. The symmetry and excellent 
contrivance of their cells, their order and agreement in carrying 
on their work, the presiding function of the queen bee, their ap- 
parent forecast, and their perseverance in accumulating their 
sweet food, exhibits an image of happy liuman society, and has 
often been held up as a model for the imitation of rational beings. 
The suggestion that bees were once stingless, is a poetic super- 
biition. According to the Bible, man was happy and innocent in 
the first days of his existence, but when he disobeyed God he be- 
came subject not only to misery but to violent passions. Some 
poets have represented that brute animals exhibited a sort of syni 



rOETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 261 

pathy with the fate of man, and that different tribes hegan'to prey 
upon others when human beings became liable to sin and its pun- 
ishment. Of that time, Milton says, 



•nature first gave signs, impressed 



On bird, beast, air, 

The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, 
Two birds of gayest phime before him drove ; 
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods. 
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace, 
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind." 

But before tliis " all cieatures met in peace from fierceness 
free," says Mr. Wordsworih — A Golden Age is the pretty fiction 
of poet3 more ancient than Mr Wordsworth — It never existed — 
it supposes universal ()eaoe in nature's realm ; but in respect to 
brutes, it could not possibly be, because those u'hich subsist on 
animal food, have organs to seize and to destroy other animals 
and appetites given to them by the Author of nature which dc' 
mand animal food to sustam their life. 



THE lOESAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. 

It is said by Mr. Ilearne, a traveller among tlie Indian tribes 
who inhabit the northern regions of North America, that when 
the Indians, in considerable companies, undertake journeys on 
foot, if one of their number becomes unable through illness or 
fatigue to proceed with the travellers, that individual is left be- 
hind with a fire and a i^ew articles of sustenance, and in this state, 
languishes and dies. ■ Mr. Woodsworth supposes a poor Indian 
woman to have been left thus, and in these pathetic verses has 
expressed what might be her distressed feelings in this situaliorj. 

" Before I see another day, 

Oh let my body die away ! 

In sleep I heard the northern gleams ; 

The stars were mingled with my dreams : 

In rustling conflict through the skies, 

I heard, and saw the flashes drive ; 

And yet they are upon my eyes, 

And yet I am alive. 

Before I see inother day. 

Oh let my body die away ! 

My fire is dead : it knew no pain ; 



I'OETRY FOR SCHOOl!.?. 

Yet is it dead, and I remain. 

All stiff with ice the ashes lie ; 

And they are dead, ami I will die. 

Wiien I was well. I w'shed to live, 

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire ; 

But they to me no joy can give, 

No pleasure now, and no desire. 

Then here contented will f lie ! 

Alone I cannot fear to die. 

Alas ! ye might have dragjjed me on 

Another day, a single one ! 

Too soon I yielded to despair ; 

Why did ye listen to my prayer ? 

When ye were gone my lirabs were stronger 

And oh how grievously 1 rue. 

That afterwards a little longer, 

My friends, I did not follow you I 

I'or strong and without pain I lay, 

My friends^ when ye were gone away. 

My child ! they gave thee to another, 
A woman who was not thy mother. 
Whun from my arms my babe they took 
On me how strangely did he look ! 
Through his whole body somethmg ran, 
A most strange working did 1 see ; 
— As if he strove to be a man, 
That he might [)ull the sledge for me. 
And then he stretched his arms, how wild i 
Oh mercy ! hke a helpless child. 

.Aly little joy ! my little pride ! 
In two days more 1 must have died. 
Then do not weep and grieve for me j 
1 feel I must have died with thee. 
Oh wind, that o'er my head art flying 
The way my friends their course did bend. 
I should not feel the pain of dving, 
Could I with thee a message send ! 
Too soon, my friends, ye went away : 
For I had many things to say. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 2^ 



I'll follow you across the snow ; 

Ye travel iieaviiy and slow ; 

In spite of all my weary pain, 

I'll look upon your tents again. 

— jMv fite is dearj, and snowy white 

The water wi^ich beside it stood ; 

The wolf has cume to me to-night, 

And he has siolen away my food. 

For ever left alone am J, 

Then wherefore should I fear to die ? 



In sleep I heard the northern gleams. This alludes to the Au- 
rora Borealis — in Ena^lish, the Morning of the North. In coun- 
tries which lie far north, as Lapland, Greenland, (fee, the heav- 
ens on the nortli side, often exhibit a brilliant white light, which 
is sometimes the same in lustre for many hours ; and at other 
times long jets of light are throvrn up whn^h vanish, and are suc- 
ceeded by others. It is sometimes imagined that these northern 
gleams are accompanied by explosive sounds, — these are what 
the dying Indian woman fancies she heard. 



THE SOLITARY REAPER. 

In the Highlands of Scotland, women perform some of the 
lighter labours of the field. They beguile their labour by singing 
3n the Gaelic tongue — sometimes, as Mr. Wordsworth supposes^ 
o{ battles long ago, and somet'unes familiar matter of to day. 

'^ Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland lass ! 
Heaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here or gently pass ! 
Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, 
And sihgs a melancholy strain ; 
Oh listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No nightingale did ever chaunt 

So sweetly to reposing bands 

Of travellers in some shady haunt 

Among Arabian sands : 

No sweeter voice was ever heard 

In spring-time from the cuckoo-birtl^ 



2(34 rOETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 

Breaking tlio silence of the seas 

Among the lUrthcst Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me uliat she sings ? 

Perhaps the plaintive numbers How 

For old, unhappy, lar-olF things, 

And battles long ago : 

Or is it some more humble lay, 

Familiar matter of to-day ? 

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain 

That has been, or may be again ? 

Whate'er the theme t!)e maiden sung, 
As if her song could have no ending ; 
I saw iier singing tt her work 
And o'er her sickle bending ; 
I listened — mot.onlcssand still : 
And as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more. 



ANDREW MARVELL. 

Born \Q20— Died 1678. 
Andrew Marvell is little known as a poet, but the poetry which 
iie left, according to Mr. C'ampbell, is worthy of higher considera- 
tion than has been bestowed upon it. lie lived in the time of 
Oliver Cromwell, and was a sincere republican, but he held a 
seat in the British parliament after the restoration of the Stuarts, 
and is remarkable for tlie independence and honesty with which 
he avowed his sentiments. He had visited foreign countries, had 
studied and meditated much : thus his conversation was adorned 
with original thought and various knowledge ; and as his manners 
were simple but polished, he was in his private intercourse singu- 
larly agreeable. Charles II. once met with this respectable man, ' 
and being struck with liim, thought he would be a valuable acqui- 
sition to the royalists — To gain MarveU's favour the King sent 
him a present of money, which was refused, and Mr. Marvell 
giving a rational and dignified exposition of his scntimentS; pre- 
ferred his poverty with integrity to the favour of nrM--.^* 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 265 

riiis excellent man loved poetry, and vindicated Milton when 
ijis character was aspersed. His religious sentinrients, like those 
of Milton were in favour of liberty, and he sympathized with those 
who were compelled to emigrate to foreign lands that they mi^ht 
enjoy freedom of conscience. In 1G20, the famous emigration 
to New-England took place. One year before that time a small 
company of religious perdons, who were not permitted to worship 
God in England in the manner whicii seemed to them right, re- 
moved to the Bermuda islands. These islands are in a healthful 
and pleasant climate, but they have never had many inhabitants 
— still the first English who went thither, anticipated njuch satis- 
faction in their retreat. Mr. Marvell wrote a song which maybe 
supposed to express the grateful emotions of those voyagers as 
they entered their desired haven. 

THE I:M£GRA^"TS. 

Where the remote Bermudas ride. 
In oceans's bosom unespied ; 
From a small boat, that rowed along, 
Thclist'ning winds received this song. 

What should we do but sing his praise. 
That led us through the watery maze, 
Unto an isle so long unknown, 
And yet lar kmder than our own ? 

Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks. 
That lift the deep upon their backs. 
He lands us on a grassy stage, 
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. 

He gave us this eternal spring. 
Which here enamels every thmg ; 
And sends the fowls to us in care. 
On daily visits through the air. 

He hangs in shades the orange bright. 
Like golden lamps in a green night. 
And does in the pomegranates close 
•Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. 

He cast (of which we rather boast) 
The gospel's pearl upon our coast. 

23 



166 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And in tlicsn rocks for us did frame 
A temple where lo sound liis name. 

Oil ! let our voice his praise exalt, 
Till it arrive at heaven s vault : 
Which, thence (perhaps) rchnuiuVing, may 
Echo beyond the Mcxi(|ue Hay. 

Thus sung they, in the English boat, 
An holy and a cheerful note ; 
And all the way, to jyruule their chime, 
With falling oars they kept the time. 



IIKNRY VAUGIIAN. 

"Henry Vaughan was a Welsn gentleman' born on the bank? 
of the Uske, in Brecknockshire, who was bred to the law, but re- 
linquished it for the profession of physic." The extraordinary 
beauty of Vaughan's poetry makes it desirable (hat the Piw re- 
mains of it which follow should become popular. 

EARLY RISING AND I'll AVER. 

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave 

To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 

The spirit's duty ; true hearts spreiid and heave 

Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ; 

Give him thy first thoughts then, so shall thou keep 

Ilim company all day, and in him sleep. 

Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should 
Dawn with the day ; there are set awful hours 
*Twixt heaven and us ; the marina was not good 
After sun rising; for day sullies flcwers : 
Rise lo prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
And heaven's gate (Apens when the world's is shut 

AValk with thy fellow creatures : note the hush 
And whisperings amongst them. Not a .vpring 
Or leaf but hath >'is morning hymn ; each bush 
And o'lk doth know I am. — Canst thou not sing' 
O leave lliy cares and follies! go this way. 
And'.hou art sure to prosper all the day. 



rOETRY Foil SCHOOLS. 20 

Serve (jrofl before the world ! let him not go 
Until thou h'd'it a hh^n.'sirijf ; then re.sijjn 
Tiie whole unto hini, and reniemher who 
i'revailed by wresthni^ ere the sun did sliinc ; 
Tour oil upon the Htories, weep for thy sin, 
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven. 

Morninf,rs are mysteries : the first, world's youth. 
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud. 
Shroud in their births ; the crown of, I do, lij^ht, truth, 
Is styled their star ; the stone and liidden f jod : 
'J'hree l>lessinjjs wait u[jori ihein, one of which 
Should move — they make us lioly, happy, rich. 

VVIieri the world's up, and every s'vann abroad, 
Keep well thy temper, nnx not with each clay; 
Dispatch necessities; lile hath a load 
Which must be carried on, and safely may : 
Vet keep those cares witnout thee : let the heart 
i*c God's alo'ne, and choose the better [jart. 



THE TIMJ3BR 

Sure thou didst flourish once, and mmy sprinj^s, 
Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, 

Past o'er thy head ; many light hearts and wings, 
Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers. 

And still a now succession sinjjs and flies, 

I'Vcsh groves grow up, and their gre*en branches shoot. 
Towards the old and still enduring skies, 
While the low violet thrives at their root. 

■y.- -X- % % i^ -M- -K vf 



THE KAJNUOW. 

Still young and fine, but wliat is still and in view 
We slight as old and soiled, though fre«h and new. 
Ilow bright wert thou when Shetn's admiring eye 
Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry ; 
When Zerah, Nahor, Haron, Abram, Lot, 
The youthful world*s gray fathers, in one knot 



POl.TRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Did with intentive looks watch every hour 
For thy new light, and trerrihled at eacn shower : 
AVhcn thou didstshine, darkness looks white and fair 
Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air ; 
Rain gently spends to honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure tie 
Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye ! 
When 1 behold thee, though my light be dini, 
Distant and low, I can in thine see him, 
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, 
And minds the covenant tvvixt all and One. 



How hriglit ivert thou, 6lc. The reader who is acquainted 
with Mr. Campbell's verses to the Rainbow, will perceive that 
he has imitated Vaughan : 

" When o'er the green undeluged earth 

Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 
How came the world's gray father's forth 

To watch thy sacred sign." 



THE WREATH (tO THE KEDEEMEE. 

Since I in storms most used to be. 

And seldom yielded flowers, 
How shall I get a wreathe for thee 

From those rude barren hours ? 

The softer dressings of the spring, 

Or summer's later store, 
I will not for thy temples bring, 

Which thorns, ncjt roses, wore : 
But a twined wreath of grief and praise, 

Praise soiled with tears, and tears again 
Shining with joy, like dewy days. 

This day I bring for all thy pain, 
Thy causeless pain ; and as sad death, 

Which sadness breeds m the most vain. 
O not in vain ! now beg thy breath, 



PORTRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



269 



Thy quick'ning breath, which gladly bears 
Through saddest clouds to that glad place 
Where cloudless quires sing without tears, 
Sing thy just praise, and see thy face. 



JAMES THOMSON. 

Born in 1100.— Died in 1748. 

This adnnirable poet was born in Scotland, but he removed to 
London while young, and devoted himself to poetry. The 
sweetness of Ihompson's disposition, and the purity and elegance 
of his taste, procured him patrons, and he spent his life surround- 
ed by discerning friends and generous benefactors. 

Thomson's principal, and most popular work, is the Seasons. 
A descriptive poem like the Seasons, was unknown in ancient 
literature. It was impossible under the system of paganism that the 
sentiment of piety could have the tender and pervading influence 
which sweetens and sanctifies the poetry of Thomson and Cow- 
per. " The religion of the ancients had not taught poetry," says 
Mr. Campbell, '^ to contemplate nature as one great image of 
the Divine beniiJ^nity, or all created beings as the objects of com- 
prehensive human sympathy. Before popular poetry could as- 
sume this ciiaracter, Christianity, Philosophy, and Freedom, 
must have civilized the human mind." 

The Castle of Indolence is less read than Thomson's Seasons; 
but to the genuine and cultivated lover of poetry, the refinement 
and beautiful expression of this exquisite poem perhaps exalts it 
above all other of Thomson's poetry. The following extract 
from the Castle of Indolence is full of instruction. The happiest 
use that its blameless and benevolent author could have desired 
should be made of it, is, that it should awaken in young minds 
the consciousness of their own power, and stimulate them to the 
natural and energetic exertion of faculties designed for all high 
and holy purposes. 



23* 



27'0 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS^. 



INTELLECTUAL LABOIK. 



*^ The Knight of Arts and Industry, 
And his achievements fair." 

" It was not by vile loitering in ease 
That Greece obtained the brighter palm of art, 
That soft yet ardent Athens learned to please, 
To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart, 
In all supreme ! complete in every part ! 
It was not thence majestic Rome arose, 
And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart . 
For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows ; 
Renown is not the child of indolent repose. 

" Had unambitious mortals minded nought, 
But in loose joy their time to wear away ; 
Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought, 
Pleased on her pillow their dull heads to lay ; 
Rude nature's state had been our state to-day ; 
No cities e'er their towery fronts had raised, 
No ans had made us opulent and gay ; 
With brother-brutes the human race had gazed : 
None e'er hae soared to fame, none honored been, none prais 

ed. 

*' Great Homer's song had never fired the breast 
To thirst of glory, and heroic deeds, 
Sweet Marc's Muse, sunk in mglorious rest. 
Had silent slept mid the Mincian reeds : 
The wits of modern lime had told their beads, 
And monkish legends been their only strains ; 
Our Mihon's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds, 
Our Shakspeare strolled and laughed with Warwick 
swains, 
Nor had my master Spenser charmed his Mulla's plain?. 

*' Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse, 
And perished all the sons of ancient fame ; 
Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse 
Through the dark depth of time, their vivid flame, 
Had all been lost with such as have no name. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. %1 

Who then had scorned his ease for others' good ? 
Who then had toiled rapacious men to tame ? 
Who in the public breach devoted stood, 
And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood ? 

'< Come, follow me, I will direct you right, 
Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow ; 
Sincere as sweet ; come, follow this good knight, 
r\nd you will bless the day that brought him to your sight , 

Some he will lead to courts, and some to camps ; 
To senates some, and public sage debates, 
Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight lamps, 
The world is poised, and managed mighty states ; 
To high discovery some, that new-creates 
The face of earth ; some to the thriving mart ; 
Some to the rural reign, and softer fates ; 
To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart ; 
All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art. 

*' There are, I see, who listen to my lay, 
W^ho wretched sigh for virtue, but despair. 
All may be done (methinks I hear them say) 
Ev'n death despised by generous actions fair ; 
All, but for those who to these bowers repair, 
Their every power desolved in luxury. 
To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair. 
And from the powerful arms of sloth get free, 
^is rising from the dead — Alas! — It cannot be 

" Would you then learn to dissipate the band 
Of these huge threatening difficulties dire, 
That in the weak man's way like lions stand, 
His soul appal, and damp his rising fire ! 
Resol;e. resolve, and to be men aspire. 
Exert that noblest privilege, alone, 
Here t.. mankind indulged : control desire : 
Let godlike reason, from her sovereign throne. 
Speak the commanding word — / zciW— and it is done/^ 



POETRY FCR SCHOOLS. 



COLLINS. 



William Collins died at the age of thirty-five, 1756. The lat- 
ter years of his life were clouded by melancholy. In this state 
Dr. Johnson describes him as having lost all relish for books — 
except one. This was the best of books, and it may be presu- 
med that he who had lost all interest in temporal things, as his 
sad eye explored the pages of the gospel, enjoyed a foretaste of 
Jieavenly happiness. Collins' verses on the death of Thomson 
are tender and pastoral. The poet supposes the author of the 
Seasons to repose on the banks of the Thames, in a delightful 
spot suitable to a lover of nature ; and he fancies that the living 
will long connect the memory oUds gentle spirit with the beauty 
of that quiet and charming scene. 

''In yonder grave a Druid lies. 

Where slowlv winds the stealing wave 
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, 

To deck their poet's sylvan grave .' 

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 

His a'ry harp shall now be laid. 
That lie, whose fieart in sorrow bleeds 

May love through life the soothujg shade. 

Then maids and youths shall linger here, 

And, while its sounds at distance swell, 
Shall sadly seem in pity's ear 

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knel!. 

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore, 
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest; 

And oft suspend the dashing oar. 
To bid his gentle spirit rest ! 

And oft as ease and health retire 

To breezy lawn, or forest deep, 
The friend shall view yon whitening spire, 

And mid the varied landscape weep. 

But, thou, who own'st that earthly bed, 

Ah ! what will every dirge avail ? 
Or tears, which love and pitv shed. 

That mourn beneath the gliding sail I 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 273 

Yet liv es there one, whose heedless eye 
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near? 

With him, sweet bard may fancy die, 
And joy desert the blooming year. 

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 

No sedge-crowned sisters now attend, 
Now waft me from the green hill's side, 

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend ' 

And see, the fairy valleys fade, 

Dun night has veiled the solemn view 1 
Yet once again, dear parted shade. 

Meek nature's child, again adieu ! 

The genial meads, assigned to bless 

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ! 
There hinds and shepherd gnls shall dress 

With simple hands thy rural tomb. 

Long, long, thi? stone, and pomted claj 

Shall melt the mus»ing Bnton s eyes. 
O ! vales, and wild woods, shall he say. 

In yonder grave a Druid lies ! 

HASSAN. THE CAMEL-DRIVER. 

In silent horror o'er the boundless waste 

The driver Hassan with his cantels passed ; 

One cruise of water on his ba> k he bore. 

And his light scrip contained a scanty store ; 

A fan of painted tisathers in his iiand, 

To guard his shaded face from scorching sand. 

The sultry sun had gained the middle sky, 

And not a tree and not an herb was nigh ; 

The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue. 

Shrill roared the uinds, and dreary was the view. 

With desperate sorrow *vild, the affrighted man 

Thrice sighed, thrice struck his breast, and thus began 

" Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day. 

When first first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way ! 

" Ah ! little thought I of the blastmg wind, 
The thirst or pinching hunger that 1 find ! 
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage, 
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage ? 
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign, 



,>74 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Then what but tears and hunger shall be tijine '. 

Ye mute companions of my toils, iliaf bear 

In all my ji^riefsa more than equal share ! 

Here, where no springs in muimurs break away. 

Or moss-crowned fountains mitigaie the day, 

In vain ye hope the green delights lo know 

Which })lams more blest or verdant va'es bestow. 

Here rocks alone and tastelss sands are found, 
And faint and sickly uinds for ever howl around. 

O cease, my fears ! all frantic as I yo, 
When thought creates unnumbered scenes of wO; 
What if the lion m his rage I meet ? 
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : 
And fearful ! ofi when day's declining hght 
Yields her pale empire t<) the mourner night, 
By hunger roused he scours the groaning plain, 
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train. 
At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep, 
If aught of rest I find, upon uiv sleep ; ^ 

Or some swollen serpent twist his scales around: 
And wake to anguish with a burning wound. 
Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor, 
From lust of wealth amd dread of death secure 1 
They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find ; 
Peace rules the day where reason rules the mind. 
Sad was the hour, and luc.kless was the day, 
Wlien first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way." ' 

It is well known that in the wide region which intervenes be- 
tween the Mediterranean and Persia, there are vast tracts, lonely, 
sandy, and parched by the absence of water and shade, which 
men, tempted by the love of gain, are induced to traverse ; and 
that some inland commerce is thus carried on between the wes- 
tern Asiatics and those of the interior. The merchants or their 
agents usually travel in caravans or large companies, but I\Ir. 
Colhns supposes his Camel-Driver to undertake a journey alone, 
and he describes his fears and his actual sufferings, in a manner 
which is inlelhgible and afiecting. 



GAY. 

Born A D. \68Q-^Died 1732. 



No great importance is now attached to the name of Gay, and 
he would not probably have been known to readers of the present 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS . 2 To 

ige, if he had not been a favourite of liis contemporaries. Pope 
vas his friend, he survived him, and wrote an Epitaph in honour 
)f his memory. In the Epitaph he is described as 'a safe com- 
mnion, and an easy friend.' This faint, and common-place 
)rai3e seemed to Dr. Johnson, the biographer and critic of Eng- 
ish poets, to be very insignificant, but it records the amiableness 
)fMr. Gay's disposition and manners, and leads us to remember 
lis goodness when we are forced to conless his want of talent in 
ny elevated sense, for he possessed the talent to amuse tlie pub- 
ic of his own time. He wrote a dramatic piece called the Beg- 
•ar's Opera, which was often exhibited, and extremely admired 
uring the author's life, but it has now fallen into oblivion. Gay's 
'ables have been very popular. They were written for a young 
•rince, are mostly political, and not very plain or pointed in their 
neaning. Two only are selected for this volume. 



THE BUTTERFLY AND SNAIL. 

•' All upstarts, insolent in place, 
Remind us of their vulgar race. 

As in the sunshme of the morn 
A butterfly (but newly born) 
Sat proudly perking on a rose, 
VV^ith pert conceit his bosom glows ; 
Ilis wings (all glorious to behold) 
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold, 
Wide he displays ; the spangled dew 
Reflects his eyes and various hue. 

His now-forgotten friend, a snail, 
Beneath his house, with slimy trail, 
Crawls o'er the grass ; whom when he Spies 
In wrath he to the gardener cries : 

" What means yon peasant's daily toil 
From choking weeds to rid the soil ? 
Why wake you to the morning's care ? 
Why with new arts correct the year ? , 
Why grows the peach with crimson hue ? 
And why the plum's inviting blue ? 
Were they to feast his taste designed, 
That vermin of voracious kind ! 
Crush then the slow, the pilfering race.. 
So purge thy garden from disgrace." 

" What arrogance !" the snail replied 
-• How ii^solent is upstart pride ! 



!7G POETRY rOR SCHOOLS. 

Iladst thou not thus, with insult vain, 
Provoked my patience to comphiin, 
I had concealed tliy meaner birth, 
Nor traced thee ut tl»e n-mn of earth ; 
For scarce nine suns had waked the hours. 
To swell n,c f.u:i, <ujii |M.iit the flowers, 
Since 1 tl)y humbler hie surveyed, 
In base, m sordid guise arrayed ; 
A hideous insect, vile, unclean, 
You draijged a slow and noisome train : 
And from your spider bowels drew 
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue. 
I own my humble life, good friend ; 
Snail was I born, and snail siiall end. 
And what's a butterfly at best ? 
He's but a caterpillar drest ; 
And all thy race (a numerous seed) 
Shall prove of caterpillar breed." 



Th'is fable is intended for a saiire upon such persons as beint/ 
born in humble circumstances, and forming friendships suitable 
to their station, are afterwards in their own estimation exalted by 
wealth, and disdain tjieir early and poorer friends. 

The butterfly state, is the last stage of that insect's life. She 
is hatched from an egg, and is at first an unsightly caterpillar ; 
after a certain tirjieshe weaves herself a little envelope, in vvhicli 
she appears to sleep ; in this state the insect is a chrysalis, but 
at length in her last formation she forces her way out of this case 
■ — she is then a butterfly. She " sports and flutters in the fields 
of air" for a few days, lays her eggs, and dies. Gay's butterfly 
is supposed in his caterpillar shape, to have been tijc friend and 
companion of the snail, which he afterv/ards despises. 

THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 

A hare who, in a civil way, 
r^omnlied with every thing, like Gay, 
all the bestial train 
wood or graze the plairn 
ievcr to offend ; 
iture was her friend. 
?nt at early dawn, 
' w-besprinkled law n> 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Behind she hears the hunters' cries, 
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies, 
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath : 
She hears the near advance of death ; 
She doubles to mislead the hound, 
And measures back her mazy round j 
Till, fainting in the public way. 
Half dead with fear she gasping lay. 

What transport in her bosom grew, 
When first the hoTse appeared in view ! 

" Let me," says she, " your back ascend. 
And owe my safety to a friend. 
You know my feet betray my flight ; 
To friendship every burden's light." 

The horse replied, " Poor honest pusSj 
It grieves my heart to see you thus : 
Be comforted, relief is near ; 
For all your friends are in the rear." 

She next the stately bull implored, 
And thus replied the mighty lord : 

" Since every beast alive can tell 
That I sincerely wish you well, 
I may, without ofl?ence, pretend 
To take the freedom of a friend. 
Love calls me hence ; a favourite cow 
Expects me near yon barley-mow ; 
And when a lady's in the case, 
You know, all other things give place. 
To leave you tlius might seem unkind ; 
But see the goat js just behind." 

The goat remarked *' her pulse was high; 
Her languid head, her heavy eye : 
IVly back, says he, may do you harm ; 
The sheep's at liand. and wool is warm.'* 

The sheep was feeble, and complained 
*' His sides a load of wool sustained ;" 
Said he was slow, confessed his fears ; 
*' For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.'' 

She now the trotting calf addressed, 
To save from death a friend distressed 
" Shall I," say he, " of tender age, 
In this important care engage ? 
Older and abler passed you by ; 
24 



278 POETRY FOR scnooLs. 

How strong are those ! how weak am I ! 
Should I presume to bear you hence, 
Those friends of mine may take offence. 
Excuse me. then ; you know my heart ; 
But dearest friends, alas must part. 
How shall we all lament ! A.dieu ; 
For see the hounds arc just in view,'' 

This fable is meant to afford a lesson in what is called d^Tcnow- 
ledge of the world. — I'o show that the feeble and dependent arc 
too often deserted at their utmost need. To be feeble, and to 
need protection is an unhappy state ; but it is necessary that 
some men should exist in it, that the benevolence of others may 
have objects to employ itself upon. We should avoid the state 
of dependence by all the means in our power, but we should 
never forsake others when we can afford them protection and 
favour. 



EXTFA-CT TROM THE PLEASURES OF MEMORYc 

Off may the spirits of the dead descend, 
To watch the silent slumbers of a friend : 
To hover round his evening walk unseen, 
And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; 
To hail the spot where once their friendship grew, 
And heaven and nature opened to their view ! 
Oft when he trims his cheerful hearth and sees 
A social circle emulous to please ; 
There may these gentle guests delight to dwell, 
And bless the scene they loved in life so well ! 

Oh thou with whom my heart was wont to share 
From reason's dawn each pleasure and each care ! 
With whom, alas ! I fondly hoj)ed to know 
The humble walks of happiness below ; 
If thy blest nature now unites above 
An angel's pity with a brother's love ; 
Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control, 
Correct my views, and elevate my soul : 
Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, 
Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned ; 
Grant me like thee whose heart knew no disguise, 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 279 

Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise, 
To meet the changes time and chance present, 
With modest dignity, and cahn content. 
When thy last breath, e/-o nature sunk to rest 
Thy meek submi?siou to thy God expresed, 
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, 
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed ; 
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave 
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave ? 
The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth. 
The inspiring voice of innocence and truth. 

Hail memory, hail ! in ti-y exhaustiess mine 
From age to age, unnunibered treasures shine ! 
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, 
And place and time -irc- subject to tliy sway ! 
Thy pleasures most we feel wiien most alone, 
The only pleasures we can call our own. 
Lighter than air, Hope's summer visions fly. 
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; 
If but a beam of sober reason play, 
Lo ! Fancy's fairy frostwork melts away ! 
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power 
Snatch the rich relics of a uell spent hour? 
These when the tremblinjr spirit takes her flight, 
Pour round her paUi a stream of living light, 
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, 
Where virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest. 



The Pleasures of Memory, a very agreeable poem, was writ- 
tenby Samuel Rogers, Esq. Mr R(tgers still lives (1827) in 
England, at a very advanced age ; he is a banker and a man of 
fortune, and is now, considered as afather of living Englisli poets. 
Lord Byron, Mr. Fox, Thomas Moore, and many other eminent 
men, have regarded his friendship as a high privileije. The ten- 
derness of Mr. Roger's heart is manitest throughout the preced- 
ing lines from the Pleasures of Memory. They are principally 
addressed to a deceased brother — by the sentiments Ibey express 
the heart is made better. 

The reader well knows that Memory is that faculty by which 

knowledge acquired atone time, is preserved, and mav be brought 

up in the mind at all times future to that in which it was first ac- 

'lired. Whithout memory man would be like an infant all his 



^'80 .POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

days. Memory is not only of infinite uscj but is a source of infinity 
pleasure. The memory of good actions, may be called the " tes- 
timony of a good conscience. The memory of good friends i< 
sometimes a consolation for the loss of ihem. The memory, or 
the remembrance of tlie just," who are no n;ore, "is blest" by 
those who survive them. Many have believed that the good 
when they are removed to another life still remember those the) 
loved in this, and that they are permitted to exert a wathchful care 
over the friends they knew in this world. The author of TIk 
Pleasures of Memory expresses such a belief. 



THE ALPS AT DAY BREAK. 

The sun-beams strike the azure skies, 
And line with light the mountain's brow : 
With hounds and horns the hunters rise, 
And chase the roe-buck through the snow* 

From rock to rock with giant bound, 
High on their iron poles they pass : 
Mute, lest the air convulsed by sound, 
Rend from above, a frozen mass. 

The goats wind slow their wonted way. 
Up craggy steeps, and ridges rude ; 
Marked by the wild wolf for his prey, 
From desert cave or hanging wood. 

And while the torrent thunders loud. 
And as the echoing cliffs reply. 
The hut peeps o'er the morning cloud. 
Perched liked an eagle's nest on high. 

The region of the Alps is the abode of a secluded but vigorous 
and adventurous race of men, whose favourite occupations arc 
hunting and scaling their sno\v covered mountains. In the ascent 
of these they are assisted by poles pointed with iron, which aid 
them in their dangerous passages. Mr. Gray says " there arc 
passes in the Alps, where the guides tell you to move on with 
speed, and say nothings lest the air agitated by the voice should 
loosen the snows above," and the detached masses should in 
stantly destroy the traveller^. 



POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. 281 

SIR JOHN MOORE. 

General Sir John Moore was tiie son of Dr. John Moore, the 
author of Zeluco, and O' several «.tlier •xceiNni novels. Gener- 
al Moore was killed at Coninna, in Spain, January 1808. He 
was sent into kSpain by the British gtAern^rent, at tl^e head of a 
large military force, in order to a.ssist the Spaniards against the 
French. At that period t'eidinend II., king of Spain, was a 
prisoner in France, and Jo.^epii Bonaparte, now resident in the 
United States and a brother of the Emperer iNapoleon, was the 
" intrusive king'' of the country. Bonaparte iiad resolved to 
establish his family in Spam, and the Enghsh government intend' 
ed to defend what they call legitimate power — meaning by this, 
the continued authority of European sovereigns, whose ancestors 
have governed before them. 1'he English, upon this principle, 
sent an army to expel the French from Spain ; but that army was 
forced to leave Spain without ac<'on.'plisi]in^ their purpcse. Gen- 
eral Moore was a man .of great courage and military skill, and 
his want of success in this enterprize was (n\ ing to circumstan-^ 
ces which he could not control. \V hen he was about to embark 
his troops, m order to return to England, he was (overtaken by the 
French general, Marshal Soult, and a battle took place between 
them. 

The attack was made by the French on the 16th January, in 
heavy columns, and with their usual vivacity ; but it was sustain- 
ed and repelled on all hands. The gallant general was mortally 
wounded in the action, just as he''*alied«m the 42(1 Highlaud reg- 
iment to 'remember Egypt.' and reimndecj the san.e brave moun- 
taineers that though ammunition was scarce, • they had their bay- 
onets !' " 

"Thus died on the field of victory, which atoned for previous 
misfortunes, one of the bravest and best officers of the British 
army. His body was wrapped in his military cloak, instead of 
the usual vestments of the tomb ; it was deposited in a grave 
hastily dug on the ramparts ©f Corunna ; and the army complet- 
ing its embarkation on the subsequent day, their late general was 
left ' alone with his glory.* '' 

Charles Wolfe, the author of the verses on the interment of 
Sir John Moore, was born in Dublin in 1791. His family was 
highly respectable, and numbers among its names the distin- 
guished one of the conqueror of Quebec. His classical education 
was received in the university of Dublin. In 1817, Mr. Wolfe vvas 
ordained to the Protestant Episcopal ministry, and appointed to a 
remote country curacy in the north of Ireland. His last place of 

24* 



282 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

residence was the Cove of Cork, where he died of consumption 
on the 2 1st of February, 1823, in the thirty-second year of hig 
age. 

Mr. Wolfe took the subject of his ode from the following pas- 
sage in the Edmburgh Annual Register. 

" Sir John Moore had often said, that if he was killed in bat- 
tle, he wished to be buried where he teW. The body was remov- 
ed at midnight to the citadel of Corunna. A grave was dug for 
him on the rampart there, by aparty of the 9th regiment, the aides- 
du-camp attending by turns. No coffin could be procured, and 
the officers of his staff wrapped the body, dressed as it was, in a 
military cloak and blankets. The interment was hastened ; for, 
about eight in the morning, some firing was heard, and the offi- 
cers feared that if a serious attack were made, they should be or- 
dered away, and not suffered to pay him their last duty. The 
officers of his family bore him to the grave ; the funeral service 
was read by the chaplain ; and the corpse was covered with 
earth." — Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808. 

'' Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night. 
The sods with our bayonets turning, — 
By the struggling rnoon beam's misty light, 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'el'^his head 

And we far away on the billow. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 28v 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 
When the clock struck the hour fur retiring ; 
And we heard the distant and random gun. 
That the foe was suddenly firing. 

Slowly and sad we laid liim down 
From the field of his fame fresh and gory, 
We carved not a hne, and we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone with his glory." 



COWPER 

Born \1SI— Died 1800. 

The Biographers of Cowper are fond of tracing his origin to 
nobles, and even to kings. " His mother w'as descended" says 
the poet's relative, the reverend Mr. Johnson, " by four different 
lines from Henry the Third, king of England." Cowper says of 
himself, 

" My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth, 
But higherfar iny proud pretension rise.'' 

The proud pretensions thus asserted by this truly humble man 
were the merits of his excellent parents, but we shall exalt these 
pretensions above every other consideration should we refer them 
to himself alone. — To him 

*' Whose virtues formed the magic of his song," 

whose genius was so informed by piety and goodness, so devoted 
to the contemplation of God and his works, that he has left one 
of the most lovely exanjples upon record of what a hi^h and holy 
gift the talent of the true poet is. The first extract from his 
works which shall be inserted here, is his own sketch of the poet- 
ical character, which, however, is limited to the pecuhar moral 
character of the poet without touching upon the excursive and 
inventive powers of his imagination, of which Shakspeare says, 
*' The Poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 



?84 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And, as imagination bodies forth, 
The forms of things urjseen, the poet's pen 
Turns tliein to shapes, and g-ives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name." 



THE POET. 



-The mind that feels indeed the fire 



The muse imparts, and can co^nmand the lyre, 

Acts with a force and kndles with a zeal, 

Whate'cr the themo, Hiai .»t.iers never feel. 

If human woes hei soil atten;:on claim, 

A tender sym[)athy pervades riie frame ; 

She pours a sensibihiy divinr 

Along the nerve of every feci hir hne. 

But if a dee{\ not tamely to 1." rrne 

Fire indignation, and a sense (<f scorn, 

The strings are t--vvept witli suci) a power, so loud 

The storm of music sh.ikcs the astonished crowd. 

So when remote lutiinty s brouijht 

Before the keen (nqirry of iier tiiought, 

A terrible sagacity mforms 

The Poet's heart, iie looks to di.'^tant storms, 

lie hears the thundtr, ere the lempest lowers, 

And armed with strength, surpassing human powers 

Seizes events as yel unknown tu man, 

And darts his soul into tne dawning plan. 

Hence, in a Roman ; lo 'th, the graceful name 

Of poet, and of prophel was the same; 

Hence Bntisli poets in the priesthood shared - 

And every hallowed poet vvs a bard. 



CUAAV KATE. 

There often wanders one, vvhom^better days 
Saw better clad, in cloak of sat/n trimmed 
With lace, and hat with ^p]endId ribbon bound. 
A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
Tier fancy followed him throiigh foaming waves 
To distant shores ; and she would sit and weep 
At what a sailor suffers ; faiK-y too, 
Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Would oft anticipate his glad return, 

And dream of transports she was not to know. 

She heard the doleful tidings of his death — . 

And never smiled again ! and now she roams 

The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day, 

And there, unless when charity forbids, 

The livelong night. A tattered apron hides. 

Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 

More tattered still ; and both but ill conceal 

A bosom heaved with never ceaj'ing sighs. 

She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 

And hords them in her sleeve ; but needful food, 

Though pressed with hunger ofi, or comelier clothes 

Though pinched with cold, asks never-Kate is crazed. 



A TALE. 

Inscotland's realm forlorn and bare, 
This history chanced of late — 

The history of a wedded pair, 
A chaffinch and his mate. 

The sprmg drew near, each felt a breast 

With gonial instinct filled ; 
They paired, and would have built a nest, 

But found not whereto build. 

The heaths uncovered, and the moors, 

Except with snow and sleet, 
Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shores 

Could yield them no retreat 

Long time a breeding-place they sought. 

Till both grew vexed and tired ; 
At length, a ship arriving, brought 

The good so long desired. 

A ship ! could such a restless thing 

Afford them place of rest ? 
Or was the merchant charged to bring 

The homeless birds a nest ? 

Hush — silent hearers profit most — 

This racer of the sea 
Proved kinder to them than the coast, 

It served them with a tree. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

But such a tree ! Hwas shaven deal, 

The tree they call a mast, 
And had a hollow with a wheel 

Through which the tackle passed. 

Within that cavity aloft. 

Their roofless home they fixed 
Formed with materials neat and soft. 

Bents, wool, and feathers mixed. 

Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, 
With russet speeks bedight — 

The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore. 
And lessens to the sight. 

The mother-bird is gone to sea, 
As she had changed her kmd ; 

But goes the male ! Far wiser, he 
Is doubtless left behind ? 

No — Soon as from ashore he saw 
The winged mansion move, 

He flew to reach it, by a law 
Of never-failing love. 

Then perching at his consort's side, 

Was briskly borne along, 
The billows and the blast defied, 

And cheered her with a song. 

The seaman with sincere delight, 
His feathered shipmates eyes. 

Scarce less exultmg in the sight 
Than when he tows a prize. 

For seamen much jielieve in signs. 
And from a chance so new. 

Each some appro. tcliiiig good divines. 
And may his hope be true! 

Hail, honoured land ! a desert where 

Not even birds can hide, 
Yet parent of this loving pair 

Whom nothing could divde. 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. -^^ 

And ye who, rather than resign 

Your matrimonial plan 
AVere not afraid to plough the brine 
. In company with Man. 

For whose lean country much disdain 

We English often show, 
Yet from a richer nothing gain 

But wantonness and wo. 

Be it your fortune year by year, 

The same resource to prove. 
And may ye, sometimes landing here. 

Instruct how to love 

'< The tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the 
author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 
1, 1793, in the following words. 

'> Glasgow, May 23. 

" In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabet, 
now lying at the Bromesiaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four 
eggs. The nest was built while tho vessel lay at Greenock, and 
was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occa- 
sionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have 
not forsaken the nest. The cock Iiowevever, visits the nest but 
seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to 
the hull for food." 



On a Spani^^l called Beau, Jcilling a young Bird. 
A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, 

AVell fed, and at his ease. 
Sliould wiser be than to pursue 

Each trifle that he sees. 

But you have killed a tiny bird, 

Which flew not till to day. 
Against my orders, whom you heard 

Forbidding you the prey. 

Nor did you kill that you might eat, 

And ease a doggish pain, 
For him, though chased with furious heat, 

You left where he was slain. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Nor was he of the thievish sort, 
Or one whom blood aUures, 

But innocent was all his sport 
AVhom you have torn for yours. 

My dog ! what remedy remains, 
Since, teach you all I can, 

I see you, after all my pains, 
Bo much resemble Man ? 



Beau's Reply. 

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird 

In spite of your command, 
A louder voice than yours I heard, 

And harder to withstand. 

You cried — forbear — but in my breast 
A mightier cried — proceed — 

"Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest 
Impelled me to the deed. 

Yet much as nature I respect, 

I ventured once to break, 
(As you, perhaps, may recollect) 

Her precept for your sake ; 

And when your linnet on a day. 

Passing his prison door, 
Had fluttered all his strength away, 

And panting pressed the floor, 

Well knowing him a sacred thing, 

Not destined to my tooth, 
I only kissed his ruffled wing, 

And licked the feathers smooth. 

Let my obedience then excuse 

My disobedience 7wiv, 
Nor some reproof yourself refuse 

From your aggrieved Bow-wow ; 

If killing birds be such a crime, 
(Which I can hardly see,) 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 289 

What think you sir of kiUing Time 
With verse addressed to me .^" 

Beau was Mr. Cooper's favourite Dog, and often accompa- 
nied him in his walks. Those who possess Cowper's entire works, 
will find Beau celebrated in the verses, the Dog and the Water 
Lily. 



The verses to Mrs. Anne )3odham, on receiving from her a 
net-work purse made by herself, are lively and epigrammatic, 
expressive of the cordiality and sportiveness with which Cowper 
treated the friends whom he loved. 

My gentle Anne whom heretofore, 
When 1 was young, and thou no more 

Than plaything for a nurse, 
I danced and fondled on my knee 
A kitten both in size and glee, 

I thank thee for my purse. 
Gold pays the v/ortii of all things here ; 
But not of love ; — That gem's too dear 

For richest rogues to win it ; 
I, therefore, as a proof of love, 
Esteem thy present far above 

The best things kept within it." 



THE CASTAWAY. 

The date of this piece is March 20, 1799. It is the last ori- 
ginal effort of Cowper, and as such, a melancholy interest is at- 
tached to it. The Castaway is founded upon an incident re- 
corded in Lord Anson's voyage. A sailor fell overboard, but the 
force of the wind and the roughness of the sea frustrated every 
effort which could be made to save his life, and he was drowned. 
Obscurest night involved the sky ; 

The Atlantic billows roared, 
When such a destined wretch as I, 

Washed headlong from on board, 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast, 

Than he, with whom he went, 
Nor ever ship left Albion's coasts 
25 



190 POETRY FOR SCHOOlSk 

With warmer wishes sent. 
He loved them both, but both in vain. 
Nor him beheld, nor her again. 

> 
Not long beneath the whelming brine, 

Expert to swim, he lay ; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die away ; 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted ; nor his friends had failed 
To check the vessels course, 

But so the furious blast prevailed, 
That, pitiless, perforce. 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could afford j 
And such as storms allow. 

The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 
Delayed not to bestow. 

But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 

Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 

Nor, crue) as it seemed, could he 
Their haste himself condemn. 

Aware that flight, in such a sea, 
Alone could rescue them ; 

Yet bitter felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld : 
And so long he, with unspent power 

His destiny repelled : 
And ever as the minutes flew,' 
Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu !* 

At length his transient respite past, 
His comrades, who before 

Had heard his voice in every blast. 
Could catch the sound no more. 

For then, by toil subdued, he drank 

The stifling ware, and then he sank- 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 29 1 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear. 
And tears by bards or heroes shed. 
Alike immortalize the dead- 

I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy tlieme 

A more enduring date. 
But misery stills delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

The Royal George was a British vessel belonging to the 
navy. While she was in harbour, and undergomg some repair, 
with Admiral Kempenfelt and eight hundred persons, officers 
and men, on board, the vessel and all in it suddenly sunk, and 
every individual perished, September, 1782 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore. 

Eight hundred of the brave, 

Whose courage well was tried. 
Had made the vessel heel. 

And laid her on her side. 

A land breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kenipenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought ; 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 
]No tempest gave the shock ; 



292 



POKTRY FOR SOHOOlr, 

She sprang no fatal leak ; 
She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in his sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfeh went down, 

With twice four hundred rnen. 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 

And mingle with our cup, 
The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again. 
Full charged vvith En^>land's thunder, 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 
His victories arc o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred, 
Shall plough the wave no more. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

This distinguished person is sometimes ranked among ^ocf^, 
though Mr. Wordsworth denies his claim to that character. Dr. 
.Fohnson was however, without question one of the most exalted 
moralists, and most elegant prose writers of his time, and his 
writings are still read with unabated admiration. 

Samuel Johnson was born at Litchfield, England,. September 7th 
1709. — He was the son of a respectable bookseller. Johnson's 
early years were passed almost in poverty, but not in ignorance. 
From his infancy his mind was cultivated, and his literary educa- 
tion was completed at the university of Oxford. 

Johnson attempted the instruction of boys for a livelihood, but 
he was unsuccessful, and his occupation through life was that of 
a professional author. In his youth h© was fortunate in gaining 
the friendship of some excellent men, and among them numbered 
his townsman, David Garrick — afterwards one of the most cele- 
brated actors of any country. 

In company with Garrick, Johnson arrived in London in March, 
737. — -'Two such candidates for fame perhaps never, before 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

that day, entered the metropolis together," and both in 

sequent lives attained such success and reputation in his separate 

vocation as rarely falls to the lot of man. 

It belongs to a larger work than this, to detail the circumstan- 
ces by which Johnson passed from poverty to competency, and 
from obscurity to eminence He lived to know that his works 
were read, and his influence felt, wherever the English language 
is spoken, and even that some of his writings were translated into 
the other languages of Europe. Dr. Johnson died in London 
December 1784, at the age of seventy-five. 

The English Dictionary, the Rambler, the Lives of the Poets, 
and many articles of criticism, and some of poetry, compose Dr. 
Johnson's works. From the exceeding beauty and gracefulness 
of its style, and the elegance of its images, it is well suited to 
a collection of poetry, therefore the story of Anningait and Ajut, 
has been extracted from the Rambler. 

Anningait and Ajutis a Greenland story. It is the fictitious 
history of two young persons, but its fine delineation of climate, 
and of manners forms its charm and its instructiveness ; and i 
trust that not a single passage of this book will be read with live- 
lier pleasure than this interesting narrative, 

ANNINGAIT AND A JUT, 

In one of the large caves to which the families of Greenlaad re- 
tire together, to pass the cold months, and which may be termed 
their villages or cities, a youth and maid, who came from difier- 
ent parts of the country, were so much distinguished for their 
beauty, that they were calltd by the rest of the inhabitants An- 
ningait and Ajut, from a supposed resemblance to their ances- 
tors of the same names, who had been transformed of old into the 
sun and moon. 

Anningait for some time heard the praises of Ajut with little 
emotion, but at last, by frequent interviews he became sensible of 
her charms, and first made a discovery of his affection, by invit- 
ing her with her parents to a feast, where he placed before Ajut 
the tail of a whale. Ajut seemed not much delighted by this 
gallantry ; yet, however, from that time, was observed rarely to 
appear but in a vest made of the skin of a white deer ; she used 
frequently to renew the black dye upon her hands and forehead, to 
adorn her sleeves with coral and shells, and to braid hair with great 
exactness. 

The elegance of her dress, and the judicious disposition of her 
ornaments, had such an effect upon Anningait, that he could no 



rOETRY FCR SHOOIS. 

restrained from a declaration of his love. He therefore 
^v...-!- - a poem in her praise, in which, among other heroic 
and tender sentiments, he protested, that "she was beautiful as 
the vernal willow, and fragrant as thyme upon the mountains ; 
that her fingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and her 
smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice ; that he would pur- 
sue her, though she should pass the snows of the midland cliffs, 
or seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals ; that he 
would tear her from the embraces of the genius of the rocks, 
snatch her from the paws of Amarock, and rescue her from the 
ravine of Hafgufa." He concluded with a wish, that *• whoever 
shall attempt to hinder his union with Ajut might be buried with- 
out his bow, and that, in the land of souls, his skull might serve 
for no other use than to catch the droppings of the starry lamps." 
Thife ode being universally applauded, it was expected that 
Ajut would soon yield to such fervour and accomplishments : but 
Ajut, with the natural haughtiness of beauty, expected all the 
forms of courtship ; and before she would confess herself con- 
«quered the sun returned, the ice broke, and the season of labour 
'Called all to their employments. 

Anningait and Ajut for a time always went out in the same boat 
and divided whatever was caught. Anningait„in the sight of his 
mistress, lost no opportunity of signalizing his courage ; he at- 
tacked the sea-horses on the ice, pursued the seals into the water, 
and leaped upon the back of the whale while he was yet strug- 
.<rling with the remains of life. Nor was his diligence less to ac- 
<!.umulate all that could be necessary to make winter comfortable ; 
he dried the roe of fishes and the flesh of seals ; he entrapped 
<]eer and foxes, and dressed their skins to adorn his bride ; he 
feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and strewed her tent with 
flowers. 

It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant part of 
the coast before Anningait had completed his store ; he there- 
fore entreated Ajut, that she would at last grant him her hand, 
and accompany him to that part of the country whither he was 
now summoned by necessity. Ajut thought him not yet entitled 
to such condescension, but proposed, as a trial of his constancy, 
that he should return at the end of summer to the cavern where 
their acquaintance commenced, and there expect the reward of 
his assiduites. " O virgin, beautiful as the sun shining on the 
water, consider," said Anningait, " what thou hast required. — 
How easily may my return be precluded by a sudden frost or un- 
expected fogs ! Then must the night be past without my Ajut.— 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 295 

We live not, my fair, in those fabled countries which lying stran- 
gers so wantonly describe ; where the whole year is divided into 
short days and nights, where the same habitation serves for sum- 
mer and winter, where they raise houses in rows above the 
ground, dwell together from year to year, with flocks of tame 
animals grazing in the fields about them ; can travel at any dme 
from one place to another, through ways inclosed with trees, or 
over walls raised upon the inland waters ; and direct their course 
through wide countries by the sight of green hills or scattered 
buildings. Even in summer, we have no means of crossing the 
mountains whose snows are never dissolved ; nor can remove to 
any distant residence, but in our boats coasting the bays. Con- 
sider, Ajut ; a few summer-days, and a few winter-nights, and 
the life of man is at an end. Night is the time of ease and festivi- 
ty, of revels and gaiety ; but what will be the flaming lamp, the 
delicious seal, or the soft oil, without the smile of Ajut ?" 

The eloquence of Anningait was vain ; the maid continued 
inexorable, and they parted with ardent promises to meet again 
before the night of winter. 

Anningait, however discomposed by the dilatory coyness of 
Ajut, was yet resolved to omit no tokens of amorous respect ; and 
therefore presented her at his departure with the skins of seven 
white fawns, of five swans, and eleven seals, with three marble 
lamps, ten vessels of seal oil, and a large kettle of brass, which he 
had purchased from a ship, at the price of half a whale and two 
horns of sea unicorns. 

Ajut was so much affected by the fondness of Anningait or so 
much overpowered by his magnificence, that she followed him 
to the sea-side ; and, when she saw him enter the boat, wished 
aloud that he might return with plenty of skins and oil ; that nei- 
ther the mermaids might snatch him into the deeps, nor the spirits 
of the rocks confine him in their caverns. 

She stood a while to gaze upon the departing vessel, and then 
returning to her hut, silent and dejected, laid aside, from that 
hour, her white deer-skin, suffered her hair to spread unbraided 
on her shoulders, and forbore to mix in the dances of the maidens. 
She endeavoured to divert her thoughts by continual application 
to feminine employments, gathered moss for the winter lamps, and 
dried grass to line the boots of Anningait. Of the skins which he 
had bestowed upon her, she made a fishing- coat, a small boat, 
and tent, all of exquisite manufacture : and, while she was thus 
busied, solaced her labours with a song, in which she prayed, 
" that her lover might have hands stronger than the paws of the 



296 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS . 

bear, and fuet swifter than the feet of the rein-deer : that his dart 
might never err, and that iiis boat might never leak ; that he 
might never stumble on the ice, nor faint in the water ; that the 
seal might rush on his harpoon, and the wounded whale might 
dash the waves in vain. 



The large boats in which the Greenlandcrs transport their fam- 
ilies, are always rowed by women ; for a man will not debase 
himself by work which requires neither skill nor courage. An- 
ningait was therefore exposed by idleness to the ravages of pas- 
sion. He went thrice to the stern of the boat, with an intent to 
leap into the water, and svv^im back to his mistress ; but, recol- 
lecting the misery which they must endure in the winter, without 
oil for the lamp or skins fur the bed, lie resolved to employ the 
weeks of absence in provision for anight of plenty and felicity. 
He then composed his emotions as he could, and expressed in 
wild numbers and uncouth images his hopes, his sorrows and fears. 
" Olifet" says he, " frail and uncertain ! where shall wretched 
man find'thy resemblance but in ice floating on the ocean? It 
towers on high, it sparkles from afar, while the storms drive and 
the waters beat it, the sun melts it above, and the rocks shatter 
it below. What art thou, deceitful pleasure ! but a sudden blaze 
streaming from the north, which plays a moment on the eye, 
mocks the traveller with the hopes of light, and then vanishes for 
ever ? What, love, art thou, but a whirlpool, which we approach 
without knowledge of our danger, drawn on by imperceptible de- 
grees, till we have lost all power of resistance and escape ? Till 
1 fixed my eyes on the graces of Ajut, while I had not yet called 
her to the banquet, 1 was careless as the sleeping morse, I was 
merry as the singers in the stars. Why, Ajut, did I gaze upon 
thy graces ? why, my fair, did 1 call thee to the banquet ? Yet, 
be faithful, my love, remember Anningait, and meet my return 
with the smile of virginity. I will chase the deer, I will subdue 
the whale, resistless as the frost of darkness, and unweared as 
the summer sun. In a few weeks I shall return prosperous and 
w'ealthy ; then shall the roefish and the porpoise feast thy 
kindred ; the fox and hare shall cover thy couch ; the tough hide 
of the seal shall shelter thee from cold ; and the fat of the whale 
illuminate thy dwelling." 

Anningait having with these sentiments consoled his grief, and 
animated his industry, found that they had now coasted the head- 
land, and saw the whales spouting at a distance. He therefore 



POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 297 

placed himself in his fishing-boat, called his associates to their 
several employments, plied ills oar and harpoon, with incredible 
courage and dexterity"; and, by dividing his time between tlie 
chase and fishery suspended the miseries of absence and suspi- 
cion. 

Ajut, in the mean time, notwithstanding her neglected dress 
happened, as she was drying some skins in the sun, to catch the 
eye of Norngsuk, on his return from hunting. Norngsuk was of 
birth truly illustrious. His aignity was equalled by his riches ; 
he was master of four men's and two women's boats, had 
ninety tubs of oil in his winter habitation, and five and-twenty 
seals buried in the snow against the season of darkness. When 
he saw the beauty of Ajut, he immedi. telj threw over her the 
skin of a deer that he had taken, and soon alter presented her 
with a branch of coial. Ajut refused his gifts, and determmed 
to admit no lover in the place of Anningait. 

Norngsuk, thus rejected, had recourse to stratagem. He 
knew that Ajut would consult an angekkok, or diviner, concern- 
ing the fate of her lover and the felicity of her future life. He 
therefore applied himself to the most cel*^brated angekkokof that 
part of the country, and, by a present ot two seals and a marble 
kettle, obtained a promise that, when Ajut should consult him 
he would declare that her lover was in the hind of souls. Ajut, 
in a short time brought hip^ a coaf madf* by herself, and inquired 
what events were to befall her ; with assurances of a much larger 
reward at the return of -nningait, if the prediction should flatter 
her desires. The angekkok knew the way to riches, and fore- 
told that Anningait, having already cai'^hi two whales, would 
soon return home with a large boat laden with provisions. 

This prognostication she was ordered to keop secret; and 
Norngsuk, depending upon his artifice, renewed his addresses 
with greater confidence ; but, finding his suit still unsuccessful, 
applied himself to her parents with gifts and promises. The 
wealth of Greenland is too powerful for the virtue of a Green- 
lander ; they forgot the merit and the presents of Anningait, and 
decreed Ajut to the embraces of Norngsuk. She entreated ; she 
remonstrated ; she wept, and raved ; but, finding riches irresisti- 
ble, fled away into the uplands, and lived in a cave upon such 
berries as she could gather, and the birds or hares which siie 
had the fortune to ensnare, taking care, at an hour when she was 
not likely to be found, to view the sea every day, that her lover 
might not miss her at his return. 

At last she saw the great boat in which Anningate had depart- 



20Q rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

ed, stealing slow and heavy-laden alongf the coast. She ran with 
all the impatience of affection to catch her lover in her arms, 
and relate her''" «Lonstancy and sufferings. When the company 
reached land, they r/ifofm£iLh£r, that Anningait, after the fishery 
was ended, being unable to support tlie slow passage of the ves- 
sel of carriage, had set ou! before them m his fishing-boat, and 
they expected at their arrival to have found him on shore. 

Ajut distracted at this intelhgence, was about to fly into the 
iiillSj Vvithout knowing why. though she v\as now in the hands of 
her parents, who forced her back to their own hut, and endeav- 
oured to comfort her : but when at last they retired to rest, Ajut 
went down to the beach ; where, finding a fishing-boat, she en- 
tered it witijoul hesitation, and, telling those who wondered at 
her rashness, that she was going in search of Anningait, rowed 
away with great swiftness, and was seen no more. 

The fate of these lovers gave occasion to various fictions and 
conjectures. Some are of opmion that they were changed into 
stars ; others imagine that Anningait was seized in his passage 
by the genius of the rocks ; and that Ajut was transformed into 
a mermaid, and still continues to seek her lover in the deserts of 
the sea. But the general persuasion is, that they are both in 
that part of the land of souls where the sun never sets, where oil 
is always fresh, and provisions always warm. 'The virgins some- 
times throw a thimble and a needle into the bay from which the 
hapless maid departed ; and when a Greenlander would praise 
any couple for virtuous affection, he declares that they love hkc 
Anningait and Ajut. 



Dr. Robert Levet was the physician, daily visiter, and in- 
timate friend of Dr. Johnson. This gentlemen's medical prac- 
tice was confined to the range of a few streets, and to the poorer 
class of people in London, yet he was respected for his skill and 
humanity. At his decease, which happened a few years before 
that of Dr. Johnson, the latter honoured his memory by the 
following verses, which, as they celebrate goodness and not great- 
ness, and express veneration for genuine merit, are worthy to be 
preserved for the sentiments thev record. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 299 

0^ THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET. 

Condemned to hope's delusive mine, 

As on we toii from day to day, 
By sudden blasis. or slow decline. 

Our social comforts drop away. 

Well tried through many a varyinsr year. 

See Levet to the grave descend, 
Officious, innocent, sincere. 

Of every friendless name the friend. 

Yet still he fills Affection's eye, 

Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind ; 
Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny 

Thy praise to merit unrefined. 

When fainting nature called for aid, 
And hovering death prepared the blow, 

His vigorous remedy displayed 

The power of art without the show. 

In misery's darkest cavern known, 

His useful care was ever nigh, 
Where hopeless anguish poured his groan. 

And lonely want retired to die. 

No summons mocked by chill delay. 

No petty gain disdained by pride, 
The modest wants of every day 

The toil of every day supplied. 

His virtues walked their narrow round, 

Nor made a pause, nor left a void : 
And sure the Eternal Master found 

The single talent well employed. 

The busy day the peaceful night, 

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; 
His frame was firm his powers were brigjij . 

Tho' now his eightieth year was nigh. 

Then with no fiery throbbing pain, 

No cold gradations of decay, 
Heath broke at once the vital chain, 

And freed his soul the nearest w^ay* 



->00 POETKY FOR SCHOOLS. 

GRAY. 

Born in 17i«3. — Ditd in 1771. 

Mr. Gray was aocountei in his time, according to Dr. John- 
son, the most learned man m Europe — doubtless he was among 
the most learned : but his learning dignifies his memory less than 
liis genius and his taste. Gray's letters, which give short sketch- 
es of the places and curiosities which he visited as a traveller, and 
express the feelings of a good son, and an affectionate friend, 
exhibit the elegance of an accomplished mind, and the sentiments 
of a sincere and pure heart. The Elegy in a Country Church 
Yard, is the most popular of Gray's poems : it is not inserted 
here because it may he found in every miscellaneous collection. 
The less admired and exalted, but the happy toned and more 
sprightly Ode to Spring, and versee on the Drowned Cat arc suita- 
ble to the design of these specimens. 

ODE ON THE PRI2fG. 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear, 
Disclose the long-expected flowers, 

And wake the purple year ! 
The attic warbler* pours her throat. 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 

The untaught harmony of Spring : 
While, whispering pleasures as they fly, 
Cool Zephrys through the clear blue sky 

Their gathered fragrance fling. 

Where'er the oaks thick branches stretch 

A broader browner shade, 
Where'er the rude or moss-grown beech 

O'er canopies tjje glade. 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
AVith me the muse shall sit, and^think 

(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardour of the croud, 
How low, how little are the proud^ 

How indigent the great ! 

Still is the toiling hand of Care \ 
The pantin g herds repose : 

* The swallo-w. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 301 



Yet hark, how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 
The insect youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring, 

And float amid the liquid noon : 
Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
Some show their gayly-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the sun, 

To contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man : 
\nd they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the busy and the gay 
But flatter through life's little day, 

In Fortune's varying colours dressed : 
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance 
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FA%'^OURITE CAT. 

Drowned in a tub of Gold Fishes. 

Twas on the lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 

The azure flowers that blow ; 
Demurest of the tabby kind. 
The pensive Selima, reclined, 

Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared ; 
The fair round face, the snowy beard, 

The velvet of her paws, 
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, 

She saw ; and purred applause. 

Still had she gazed : but midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide, 

The Genii of the stream : 
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue 
26 



J02 POETRY rOR SCHOOLS^ 

Though richest purple, to the view 
Betrayed a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder 5a\v 
A whisker first, and then a claw : 

With many an ardent wrsli, 
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize : 
What female heart can gold despise ? 
What cat's averse to fish ? 

Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent 
Again slie stretched, again she bent, 

Nor knew the gulf between : 
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled) 
. The slippery verge her feet beguiled, 

She tumbled headlong in. 

Eight times emerging from the flood. 
She mewed to every watery god, 

Some speed V aid to send. 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred . 
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. 

A favorite has no friend I 

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, 
Know, one false step is never retreived, 

And be with caution bold. 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless heart, is lawful prize : 

Nor all that glistens gold. 



CAMPBELL. 



Thomas Campbell, the author of the Pleasures of Hope, of Ger- 
trude of Wyoming, &.C. is among the most popular of hvmg writ- 
ers As a poet and critic, he ranks with the first of the age. Loch- 
iel'*s Warning, one of Campbell's shorter'pieccs, is often read and 
recited in schools, but it cannot be comprehended without some 
acquaintance with Scottish history and character. 

Eno-land and Scotland were governed by separate kings till 
I603v In that year ElizabetJi of England died, and named as her 



poethy for schools. 30C 

'Successor James VI of Scotland. James was the son of Mary, 
Queen of Scots, arkl Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley. James was 
descended from Henry VII of England, and among his ancestors 
was a long line of Scottish kings : as ^^e/r descendants, the peo- 
ple of Scotland cherished an ardent affection for James and his 
posterity. Tiie Scots are remarkable for their attachment to 
power. The heads of the Clans, and the hereditary prince, were 
objects of tlie highest enthusiasm to that people, and they esteem- 
ed it a duty, and even a privilege, to die in their service. 

James was succeeded by his son Charles I, who did not knov/ 
how to govern, and was beheaded by his subjects. After Charles' 
death, England was a commonwealth, or republic, governed for 
a few years by Oliver Crornwell. In 1660. Charles Stuart, the 
second of that name, was made king of England, as the legiti- 
mate successor of his father, Charles I. Charles II died 1685, 
and his brother, James, duke of York, was immediately proclaim- 
ed king ; but by the laws of England he was incapacitated for 
the sovereignty. 

In the reigns of Edward VI and his sister Elizabeth, the Pro- 
testant faith became the foundation of what is called the Estab- 
lished Church of England ; and it was made a law that the king, 
and all persons holding olaces under the government, should ac- 
knowledge themselves to he Protestants, ami worship according 
to tlie forms prescribed by iho national Church. Jam.es II was 
a Catholic. When the people were convinced of this fact, and 
of the king's inclination to restore Popery in Britain, they sent 
over to Holland to William, prince of Orange, a grandson of 
Charles I, and to his wife, Mary, daughter of the English king, 
James II, to come over to England, and take the government 
upon themselves. William and Mary were crowned king and 
queen 1689. A party m Scotland, attached to the Stuarts, re- 
fused to acknowledge them, but in the same year the Scottish 
army was defeated at Kiilycrankie in Perthshire. 

The banished James endeavoured to make friends in Ireland, 
but his adherents were deieated by king William, at the battle of 
the Boyne, and he was forced to retire into France. The Jaco- 
bites (the friends of James) long continued their machinations to 
restore the Stuarts to the throne of Britain, but all their plans 
were ultimately frustrated. 

James Stuart died in France hi 1701, and his daughter, the 
princess Anne, succceeded William III. She was proclaimed 
queen in April 1702, and died in 1714. Anne was succeeded by 
Qeorge I of the house of Brunswick, George was a German 



J04 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

i)iince, de-jccndcd in tlie female line from James I of England. 
This family were destined forever to exclude the Stuarts from 
I he throne of Britain ; but one of that race, sometimes called the 
Pretender, and sometimes the ciicvalier St. George, went from 
France to Scotland in 1715, and there, assisted by the favourers 
of his unfortunate pretensions, made some attempt to recover 
his forfeited inheritance. These were unavailing ; he was forced 
;o return to France, and many of his adherents were executed 
iS traitors to their king and country. 

The rebellion of the Stuarts did not end here. The following 
larrative details its progress and terminvtion. 

" In 1745 the son of the old pretender resolved to make an ef 

ort at gaining the British crown. Being furnished with some 

'loney, and still larger promises from France, he embarked for 

Scotland on board a small frigate, accompanied by the Marquis 

rullibardine, and a few other desperate adventurers. For the 

;onquest of the whole British empire, he brought with him seven 

officersj and arms for 2000 men He landed on the coast of Lo- 

::habar, July 27, and was m a little time jojned by some High- 

tnd chiefs and their vassals. He soon saw himself at the 

icad of 1500 men, and invited others to join him by nmnifestoes, 

which were dispersed throughout all the Highlands. The English 

ministry was no sooner informed of the truth of his arrival, than 

"Mr John Cope was ordered to oppose his progress. In the mean 

ime, the young adventurer marched to I?erth, where his father, 

'iie chevalier de St. George, had been proclaimed king of Great 

iJritain. The rebel army advanced towards Edinburgh, whicli 

they entered without opposition. Heie, too the pageantry of 

>roclamation was performed. But though he was master of the 

capital, yet the citadel, or castle, with, a good garrison, under the 

ommand of General Guest, braved all his attempts. Sir John 

Jope, who was now reinforced by two regiments of dragoons, re- 

olved to march towards Edinburgh, and give him battle. The 

oung adventurer attacked him near Preston Pans, and in a few 

liinutes totally routed him and his troops. In this victory the 

jnglost about 500 men, and the rebel not above 80. 

In the mean time, the pretender went forward with vigour ; 
ind having advanced to Penrith, continued his irruption till he 
■ame to Manchester, \vhere he established his head-quarters ; from 
thence he prosecuted his route to Derby ; but he determined once 
more to return to Scodand. He effected his retreat to Carlisle 
without any loss, and having reinforced the garrison of the place 
crossed the rivers Eden and Solway mto Scotland. 

Aiter many attacks and skirmishes, the duke of Cumberb.n^l 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 305 

son of George II, the reigning king, put himself at the head of 
the troops of Edinburgh, which consisted of about 14,000 
men. He resolved to come to a battle as soon as possible, and 
marched forward while the young adventurer retired at his 
approach. The duke advanced to Aberdeen, where he was join- 
ed by the duke of Gordon, and some other lords. The Highland- 
ers were drawn up in order of battle, on the plan of Culloden, to 
the number of 8000 men. The duke marched thither, and the 
battle began about one o'clock in the afternoon, April 16. In 
less than thirty Uiinutes, the rebels were totally routed, and the 
field was covered with their dead botiies. The duke immediate- 
ly after the batle, ordered thirty-six deserters to be executed." 

The misfortunes of Prince Charles Edward in his perilous un- 
dertaking, and his escape out of the British dominons, form a 
most extraordinary romance of real life. The novel of Waver- 
ly gives some interesting sketches of this Prince's enterprize, 
and particularly of the generosity and devotednes of his adher- 
ents. The Britisli government made a most severe example of 
the misguided men, who sacrificed themselves to their principles 
of loyalty, but so elevated were their motives that it is impossi- 
ble not to deplore their fate. The principal chiefs engaged in 
this rebellion were executed at Carhsle, Culloden, and other 
places, and thousands of inferior condition were transported to 
foreign countries. 

Lochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Camerons, en- 
gaged in this unhappy cause '' His njemcry is still cherished 
among the Highlanders, by the appellation of the gentle Lochielj 
for he was famed for his social virtues as much as for his martial 
and magnanimous (though mistaken) loyalty." 

Before Lochiel had led his followers to the standard of the 
Pretender, it is related that a Seer forewarned him of the catas- 
trophe which awaited the rebels. This remonstrance is founda- 
tion of Lochiel's Warning. The (ess informed of the Scots, from 
time immemorial, have cherished a belief in the gift of *eco72t? 
sight — more properly ^rs^ sight. The second sight, say those 
who beheve in it, is an actual perception which the gifted per- 
son has of things absent and future, which he can afterwards des- 
cribe to others, and which usually intimates some important event, 
Ellen, in the Lady of the Lake, tells the stranger Knight, 

'f Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent, 
Was on the visioned future bent." 

26* 



rO£TRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

lochiel's warning. 

Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight : 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war. 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
"Tis thine> oh Glenullin ! w'hose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watchfire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep Alhin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that wreaks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 
seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

Wizard. Ha ! laughst thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn : 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Compamonless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement' height. 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn j 
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel False Wizard avaunt 1 1 have marshalled my'cl an 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 301 

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They ure ture to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome to Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock '. 
But wo to his kmdred, and wo to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowds 
Clanmanald the dauntless, and Moray the proud : 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

Wizard. — Lochiel, Loehiel, beware of the day ' 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
*Tis the sunset of life gives me mvstical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
1 tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
AVith the bloodhounds, that bark for thy fugitive king, 
Lo ! anointed by heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 
Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests and cover his flight 
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ; 
But. where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ■ 
Ah no ! for a darker departure is near, 
The war-drum is mufl^ed, and black is the bier ' 
His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accursed be the fagots, that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat. 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale-- 

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale: 

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore. 
Like ocean- weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains. 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe 1 



308 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

Weaj) Alhin — Scotland, or literally, people of Scotland. 

Proudhird of the mountain. The Wizard here addresses L<j 
chiel figuratively, and speaks of the ruin which is impending ovc 
his house, as a Jire shower destined to consume the eyrie or 
eagle's nest — that signifies the chiefs home and his family. 

A darker departure is near. The agonizing description given 
in the lines which follow to the end of the passage refer to a fact. 
'' The brother of Lochiel returned to England ten years after the 
rebellion, though he acted only as a surgeon in the rebel army, 
suffered the dreadful fate here predicted, by a sentence which hap- 
pily has no parallel for needless severity in the modern history of 
state trials in this humane age." 

ODE TO WINTER. 

When first the fiery-mantled sun 
Mis heavenly race began to run, 
Round the earth and ocean blue. 
His children four, the Seasons, flew. 

rirst in green apparel dancing, 

The young Spring smiled with angel grace ; 

Rosy Summer next advancing, 

Rushed into her sire's embrace : 
Iler bright-haired sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles, 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, 

On India's citron-covered isles : 
More remote and buxom-brown, 
The queen of vintage bowed before his throne j 
A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 
But howling Winter fled afar, 
To hills that prop the polar star, 
And loves on deer borne car to ride, 
With barren darkness by his side. 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whalc» 



POETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 309 



Round the balls where Runic Odin 
Howls his war-song to the gale. 

Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
When Frenzy, with her blodshot eye, , 
Implores thy dreadful deity. 
Archangel ! power of desolation ! 

Fast descending as thou art, 
Say, hath mortal invocation 

Spells to touch thy stony heart ? 
Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer, 
And gently rule the ruined year ; 
j\or chill the wanderer's bosom bare, 
Nor freeze the wretch's falhng tear ; — 
To shuddering want's unmantled bed, 

Thy horror-bret\thing agues cease to lend, 
And gently on the orphan head 

Of innocence descend. — 
But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds : 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep. 

And spectres walk along the deep. 
Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
Oh, winds of Winter ! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan ; 
Or start, ye demons o« the midnight air, 

At shrieks and thunder louder your own. 
Alas ! even your unhallowed oreath 

May spare the victim, fallen low ; 
But man will ask no truce to death, — 

No bounds to human wo*. 



THE SOLDIER S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce — for the night cloud had lowered. 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

*Tliis ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800, before tne con- 
-liision of hostilities. 



10 rOETRY rOR SCHOOLS. 

Wlicn reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
13y the wolf-scaring fagut that guarded the slain ; 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 

Methought from the battle-ficid s dreadful array. 
Far, far I had roanicd on a desolate track ; 

'Twas autumn — and suiishine arose on the way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back 

I flow to the pleasant fields traversed so soft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; 

[ iieard my own mountain-goats bleat. ng aloft, 

And knew the sweet stram that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 
From my home and my weeping friends never to part 

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. 
And my wife sobbed aloud in lier fulness of heart. 

Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn : 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay|; 

?3ut sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



AMERICAN POETRY. 

The four articles next in course, are from the pen of Mr. 
Bryant. Of living poets of our native country, it is unnecessary 
to give information — the public regards them with curiosity which 
is generally gratified, and when they deserve it, they are objects 
of favour which is freely expressed. The individual whose name 
is attached to Autumn Woods, to the Song of the Stars, and to 
Rizpah. enjoys a reputation never attached to mediocrity, and it 
becomes his countrymen and his contemporaries to furnish a 
pledge of the sure honours which late posterity will pay to his 
genius by the manner m which they cherish and jequite thnt 
genius. 

AUTUMN WOODS. 

Ere, in the northern gale, 
The summer tresses of the trees are gone, 
The woods of Autumn all around our vale. 

Have put their glory on. 



POETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 

The mountains that infold 
In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, 
Seem groups of giant knigs in purple and gold, 

That guard the enchanted ground. 

I roam the woods liiat crown 
The upland, where the mino-led splendours glow, 
Where the gay company of trees look down 

On the green fields below. 

My steps are not alone 
In these bright walks ; the sweet southwest, at play 
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown 

Along the winding way. 

And far in heaven, the while, 
The sun that sends that gale to wander here, 
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, — 

The sweetest of the year. 

Where now the solemn shade, 
Verdure and gloom, where many branches meet ; 
So grateful, when the noon of summer made 

The valleys sick with heat ? 

Let in through all the trees 
Come the strange rays ; forest depths are bright : 
Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze. 

Twinkles, like beams of light. 

The rivulet, late unseen, 
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 
Shines with the image of its golden screen, 

And glimmerings of the sun. 

But, beneath yon crimson tree, 
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame. 
Nor mark within its roseate canopy, 

Her blush of maiden shame. 

Oh, Autumn ! why so soon 
Depart the hues that make thy forest glad ; 
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny TiOon, 

And leave tliee wild and sad ? 



' "• 1 oi::'rRy for schools. 

Ah ! 'twere a lot too blest 
For ever in thy coloured shades to stray ; 
Amidst the kisses of the soft south vvest 

To rove and dream for aye ; 

And leave the vain low strife 
That makes men mad— the tug for wealth and power 
The passions and the cares that wither life, ' 

And waste its little hour. 

The variable climate of the eastern states, affords grounds of 
complamt to sensitive people, but the beautiful Autumn of that 
region is congenial to every constitution and laste. The aspect 
01 nature at that season in New-Englaml. inspires the most tran- 
quil and happy emotions, and the peace of its scenes dispones 
every heart to sympathize with the sentiments which the preced- 
ing verses express. The appearance of the American woods in 
autumn is peculiar to this country. Mr. Tudor, in his Let- 
ters on the Eastern States, gives this description of it : 

•' The rich and mellow tints of the forest at that season of the 
year, have often turnished subjects for the painter and the poet 
m Europe; but the woods of Europe never exhibit the aopear- 
ance of ours Besides all the shades of brown and green, Vhicli 
the forests of Europe display in the decay of their foliage the 
American woods in the same stage of vegetation put on ''' the 
most glarmg and brilliant colours— bright yellow, scarlet, orano-e 
and purple— not merely on single leaves, but masses of whole 
trees have their foilage tlius tinged." 

'' I do not know that it has ever been accounted lor • but it 
may perhaps be owing to the frosts coming earlier here than in 
Europe, and falling on the leaves while the sap is yet copious 
before they have begun to dry and fall off. However this may be' 
the colouring is wonderful ;— the walnut is turned to the britrht- 
est yellow, the maple to scarlet, &c. Our trees put on this dTess 
about the first of October." At this time of the year the eflect 
of the atmosphere upon our scenery and upon the sensations o' 
the beholder, induce sentiments of sober cheerfulness, and pure 
enjoyment of this breathing life, and this beautiful world, such as 
we never feel at other seasons. 

Mr. Tudor observes that " the reader who has any relic of 
veneration for Pomona and the Hamadryads," fl hope oiy young- 
readers are acquainted with Pomona and the Hamadryads) will 
We an interest in the history of certain celebrated trees of New- 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 313 

England, and he proceeds to enumerate the more remarkable of 
tliese. 

" In Salem, (Mass.) there is a pear tree still producing fruity 
that was planted by Governor Endicott in his garden in 1630^ 
and which is now owned by his descendants. At Sagadahoc, in 
Maine, when the French had a footing in 1689, there is an apple 
tree with some remains of life, amidst the ruins of their dwellings. 
The trunk is nearly the size of a hogshead, and entirely hollow. 
It was almost a century after before any apple trees were planted 
in the neighbouring country. In Hartford (Connecticut,) the 
oak yet stands, in which the Connecticut charter was secreted, 
during the disastrous administration of Andross, when all the? 
New- England charters were taken away. Governor Andross 
went to Hartford to obtain the charter of Connecticut ; when 
the Council were assembled with Andross in the evening, while 
the destined victim was lying on the table, the lights were sudden- 
ly extinguished, Captain Wadsworth seized the Charter and hid 
it in this tree, which even then, in 1692, was hollow with age.— 
This tree forms an appropriate counterpart to the '« royal oak'^ 
of England. The most celebrated of all our trees, however, was 
the Liberty tree in Boston, which fell a sacrifice to party ven- 
geance, and was cut down when the British troops got possess 
sion of the town. It was an elm of vast size, of which only tli 
stumps remains. Many transactions leading to the revolution 
took place beneath it. Trees in various places in this country 
and Europe, were named after it : in France at one time everv 
municipality had one ; but in that country they never flourished'^ 
und finally perished root and branch under Napoleon." 

SONG OF THE STARS. 

"W^hen the radiant morn of creation broke, 
And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
And the empty realms of darkness and death 
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath 
And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame, 
From the void abyss by myriads came. 
In the joy of youth, as they darted away, 
Through the widening wastes of space to play^ 
Their silver voices in chorus rung 
And this was the song the bright ones sung ; 
Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, 
The fair blue fields that before us lie : 
Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, 
27 



3J4 rOETRY FCR SHOOLS. 

Each planet poised on her turning pole, 
With her isles of green, and clo\jds of white, 
And her wiiters that lie like fluid light. 

For the source of glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows tinbounded space :, 
And we drink as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy au ant: our blooming sides ; 
Lo ! yonder tne living splendours play ! 
Away, on our joyous path away ! 

Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 

In the infinite azure, star after star, 

How they brighten and bloom as thev swiftly pass! 

How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ; 

And the path of the gentle wmds are seen, 

Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. 

And see where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ; 
And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues. 
Shift o*er the bright planets and shed their dews : 
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
With his shadowy cone, the night goes round. 

Away, away ! — in our blossoming bowers, 
In the soft air wrapping those spheres of ours, 
In the seas and fouutains that shine with morn. 
. See, love is brooding, and life is born, 

And breathmg myriads are breaking from night. 
To rejoice like us, in motion and light. 

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres ' 

To weave the dance that measures the years 

Glide on in tlie glory and gladness sent 

To the farthest wall of the firmament, 

The boundless visible smile of him 

To the vale of whose brov/ our lamps arc dim. 



RIZPAH. 

And he delivered them into the hands of the Giheonites, and 
they hanged them in the hill before the Lord ; and they fell all 
seven together, and were put to death in the days of (he harvest, 
in the first days, in the beginning ofbarley-harvest. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Si 5 

And Rizpak, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth and spread 

iifor her vpoi the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the 

water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the 

birds of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the 

field by night. — 2 Samuel, xxi, 9, 10. 

Hear what the desolate Rizpah said, 
As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. 
The sons of Viichal before her lay, 
And her own fair childrt n, dearer than they ; 
By a death of shame they all had died, 
And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side^ 
And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all 
That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, 
All wasted with watching and famine now, 
And scorched by the sun her haggard brow, 
Sat, mournfully guarding tlieir corpses there. 
And murmured a strange and solemn air ; 
The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain 
Of a mother that mourns her children slain. 

I have made the crags my home, and spread 
On their desert backs my sackcloth bed ; 
I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks, 
And drank the 'nidnight dew in my locks ; 
1 have wept till I could not weep, and the pain 
Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. 
Seven blackened corpses before me he, 
In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. 
i have watched them through the burning day. 
And driven the vulture and raven away ; 
And the cormorant wheeled in circles round, 
Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground. 
And, when the shadows of twilight came, 
I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, 
And heard at my side his stealthy tread, 
But aye at my shout the savage fled ! 
And [ threw the lighted brand, to fright 
The jackal and wolf that yelled in the night. 

Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons, 
By the hands of wicked and cruel ones: 
Yet fell in your fresh and blooming prime, 
All innocent, for your father's crime. 



316 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

He sinned — but lie paid the price of his guilt, 
When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt ; 
When he strove with the heathen host in vain, 
And fell with the flower of his people slain, 
And the sceptre his children's hands should sway. 
From his injured lineage passed away. 

But I hoped that the cottage roof would be 
A safe retreat for my sons and me ; 
And that while they ripened to manhood fast, 
They should wean my thoughts from woesof the past 
And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride, 
As they stood in their beauty and strength by my side. 
Tall like their sire, with the princely grace 
Of his stately iorm,and the bloom of his face. 

Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, 
When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart ^ 
When I clasped their knees and wept and prayed. 
And struggled and shrieked to heaven for aid, 
And clung to my sons with desperate strength, 
Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, 
And boi-e me breathless and faint aside. 
In their iron arms, while my children died. 
They died — and the mother that gave them britii 
Is forbid to cover their bones with earth. 

The barley harvest was nodding white. 
When my children died on the rocky height. 
And the reapers were singing on hill and plain, 
When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. 
But now the season of rain is nigh, 
The sun is dim in the thickening sky, 
And the cloi4ds in sullen darkness rest. 
When he hides his light at the doors of the west, 
I hear the howl of the wind that brings 
The long drear siorm on its heavy wings ; 
But the howling wind, and the driving rain 
Will beat on my houseless licad in vain : 
I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare 
The beasts of the desert, and fowls of the air. 

When the Israelites took possession of the land of Canaaii. 
they were commanded to extirpate the occupants of the country. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 3 IT 

This was but imperfectly fulfilled : in Israel and its borders there 
always remained some of the descendants oi the primitive inhab- 
itants. About a thousand years before Christ, Saul, king of Is- 
rael, slew some of the Gibeonites. a remnant of the Amorites.-— 
A (ew years after, the Gibeonites, like other savages, denftnded 
of David, as a satisfaction for the injury they had sustained from 
his predecessor, life for life- They required that seven men oi 
the posterity of Saul should be delivered to them to be hanged, 
and David consented to this cruel proposition. The king took twe 
^onsof Saul and Rizpah, and five sons of Michal, Saul's daugh- 
ter, and delivered them to the Gibeonites. The fearful vengeance 
executed upon these men. and the constant heart-rending fond- 
ness of Rizpah, are already known from the words of the scrip* 
ime and the pathetic verses of the poet. 

■^ AGRICULTUBAI. ODE. 

Far back in the ages, 

The plough with wreaths was crowned, 
The hands of kings and sages 

Entwined the chaplet round j 
Till men of spoil 
Disdained the toil i 

By which the world was nourished, 
And blood and pillage were the soil 

In which their laurels flourished, 
— Now the world her fault repairs — 

The guilt that stains her story. 
And weeps her crimes amid the cares 

That formed her earliest glory. 

The proud throne shall crumble, 

The diadem shall wane. 
The tribes of earth shall humble 

The pride of these who reign ; 
And war shall lay 
His pomp away ; — 

The fame that heroes cherish, 
The glory earned in deadly fray 

Shall fade, decay and perish. 
—Honor waits o'er all the earth, 

Through endless generations, 
The art that calls the harvests forth, 

And feeds the expectant nations.— jBr^aw^. 

27^ 



3 1 8 POETRY FOR SniOOLS. 



miSBIE. 

The author of the two hymns inserted below, was a professor 
of Moral Philosophy in Harvard University, Cambridge, Massa- 
chusetts. Professor Frisbie died in 1821. He was almost en- 
tirely deprived of sight, but it happened to him, as to the poet 
IVlilton, and to many other highly gifted men, that Providence 
made him amends for the imperfection of external vision by a 
more profound insight of holy and heavenly things. Human hap- 
piness and virtue, were the subjects of Professor Frisbie's habit- 
ual and anxious inquiries ; " but all his serious thoughts had rest 
in Heaven" — Piety was the constant fiame of his mind, and his 
conversation and example afforded uniform illustrations of the 
Christian temper and faith. His death was a loss to the young 
particularly, and his worth as a man, a scholar, and a Christian, 
was duly appreciated and felt by those of his college who looked 
up to him for the exposition of duty and of truth. Perhaps the 
good seed which he scattered in many minds, is now expanded to 
fruit, and it may be that the devotional pieces here annexed will 
yet serve to awaken gratitude to God, and to strengthen resolu- 
tions of virtue. 

MORNING HYMN. 

While nature welcomes in the day, 
My heart its earliest vows would pay 
To him whose cave has kindly kept 
My life from danger while I slept. 

His genial rays the sun renews ; 
How bright the scene with glittering dews ! 
The blushing flowers more beauteous bloom. 
And breathe more sweet their rich perfume. 

So may the sun of righteousness, 
With kindliest beams my bosom bless 
Warm into life each heavenly seed, 
To bud and bear some generous deed. 

So may the dews of grace distil, 
And gently soften all my will ; 
So may my morning sacrifice 
To heaven like grateful incense rise. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 319 



AVilt thou this day my footsteps guide. 
And kindly all I need provide ; 
With strength divine my bosom arm, 
Against temptation's powerful charm 

Where'er I am, oh, may I feel 
That God is all around me still ; 
That all I say, or do, or mean. 
By his all-searching eye is seen. 

Oh may each day my heart improve ! 
Increase my faith, my hope, my love : 
And thus its shades around me close 
More wise and holy than I rose. 



EVENING HYMN. 

My soul, a hymn of evening praise 
To God, thy kind preserver, raise. 
Whose hand this day hath guarded, fed. 
And thousand blessings round thee shed. 

Forgive my sins this day, O Lard, 
In thought or feeling, deed or word ; 
And if in aught thy law I've kept. 
My feeble efforts, Lord, accept. 

While nature round is hushed to rest. 
Let no vain thought disturb my breast : 
Shed o'er my soul religion's power, 
Serenely solemn as the hour. 

Oh, bid thy angels o'er me keep 
Their watch, to shield me while I sleep ' 
Till the fresh morn shall round me break 
Then with new vigour may I wake ! 

Yet think> my soul, another day 
Of thy short course has rolled away : 
Ah, think how soon in deepening shade 
The day of life itself shall fade 1 



;20 roETRY for schools. 

How soon death's sleep my eyes must close, 
Lock every sense in dread repose, 
A.nd lay amid the awful gloom 
And solemn silence of the tomb ! 

This very night, Lord, should it be, 
Oh may my soul repose on thee, 
TilUhe glad morn m heaven shall rise. 
Then wake to triumph in the skies! 



JERUSALEM. 

Like a queen, 

Armed with a helm in virgin loveliness, 
Her heaving bosom in a bossy cuirass, 
She sits aloft, begirt with battlVments 
And bulwarks swelling from the rock, to guard 
The sacred courts, pavilions, o.\laces, 
Soft gleaming through the umbrage of the woods 
Which tuft the summit, and liko raven tresses, 
Wave their dark beauty round the tower of David 
Resplendent with a thousand golden bucklers. 
The embrasures of alabaster shine ; 
Hailed by the pilgrims of the desert, bound 
To Judah's mart with orient merchandise. 

Hillhouse. 

Jerusalem, a city of modern Palestine, and the capital of Judea. 
was more anciently Jebus, and was taken by David, incorporated 
into his dominions, and coiisecraied to the worship of the God 
of Israel. David fortified and embellished Jerusalem, and his 
son Solomon erected the temple, whither the Jews repaired an- 
nually to celebrate the feast of tl t: Passover. Jerusalem was 
ever an object of attachment and veneration to the Jews, and in 
the time of Christ was the resort and residence of many foreigners. 
Jerusalem was at that time subject to the Romans, but a spirit of 
revolt against their foreign masters exposed the Jews to their ven- 
geance. — Christ foretold the destruction of this city, and his proph- 
ecy was accomplished by Titus, A. D. 70. 

Modern Jerusalem is included in the Turkish dominions — none 
of the splendor which Mr. Hillhouse describes now remains, but 
but there are many monuments of Christianity, and it is interest- 
ing to the traveller as the scene of the greatest splendour and dig- 



rOETRY roR SCHOOLS. 321 

nity of that extraordinary nation, the Jews ; and more particular- 
ly as the place where Jesus Christ performed many of his mira- 
cles, where he promulgated the doctrmes of our religion, and 
where he was crucified and buried. 



Mr. Milman is a Britisli poet. He takes his subjects princi- 
pally from scripture history. 

The following verses are a song of some Jews, who deplore 
the captivity of their nation, which they represent under the scrip- 
lure figure which describes the Hebrew people as a vine, trodden 
down by the devastation of their enemies. The remembrance ol 
God's mercies and promises always animated this unfortunate 
people and in their deepest affliction they celebrate their deliver- 
iincc from their Egyptian bondage. 

SOIS'G OF THE JEWS. 

Choirs. 
Kings of Kings ! and Lord of Lords ! 

Thus we move, our sad steps timing 

To our cymbals' feeblest chiming, 
Where thy house its rest accords. 
Chased and wounded birds ore we. 
Through the dark air fled to thee ; 
To the shadow of tliy wings, 
Lord of Lords ! and King of Kings ! 

Behold, oh Lord ! the Heathen tread 

The branches of thy fruitful vine, 
That its luxurious tendrils spread 

O'er all the hills of Palestine. 
And now the wild boar comes to waste 
Even us, the greenest boughs, and last. 
That; drinking of thy choicest dew^ 
On Zion's hill, in beauty grew. 

No ! by the marvels of thine hand, 
Thou wilt save thy chosen land ! 
By all thine ancient mercies shown, 
By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown : 
By the Egyptian's car-borne host, 
Scattered on the Red Sea coast ; 
By that wide and bloodless slaughter 
Underneath the drowning water. 



322 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Like us in litter helplessness, 
In their last and worst distress — 
On tlie sund and sea- weed lying, 
Israel poured her doleful sighing ; 
While before the deep sea flowed, 
And behind fierce Egypt rode — 
To their fathers' God they prayed. 
To the Lord of Hosts for aid. 

On the margin of the flood 

With lifted rod the Prophet stood ; 

And the summoned east wind blew, 

And aside it sternly threw 

The gathered waves, that look their stand 

Like crystal rocks, on either 1 and, 

Or walls of sea-greeii marble piled 

Hound some irregular city wild. 

Then thelight of mornin^r la> 
On the wonder-paved way. 
Where the treasures of the deep 
In tUeir caves of coral sleep. 
The profound abysses, inhere 
Was never sound from uppfr air, 
Rang with Israel's chanied woros, 
King of Kings ! and Laid of Lords ! 

Then witl; bow and banner glancing, 

On exulting Egypt came. 
With her chosen horsemen prancing, 

And her cars on whf>t;!s of flame. 
In a ricli and boastful fing, 
All around her furious l^mg. 

But the Lord from out his cloud, 
The Lord looked down upon the proud ; 
And the host drave heavjly 
Down the (!cep bosom of the sea. 

With a quick and sudden swell 
Prone the liquid ramparts fell ; 
Over horse, and over car. 
Over every man of war, 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS, 323 



Over Pharaoh's crown of gold 
The loim thundering billows rolled. 

As the ievel waters spread 
Down they sunk, they sank like lead, 
Down sank without a cry or groan. 
And the niorning sun, that shone 
On myriads of bright-armed men, 

Its meridian radiance then 
Cast on a wide soa, heaving as of yore. 
Against a silent, solitary shore. 



The preceding article is made intelligible by the XIV chapter 
of Exodus : 

*' And they took their journey from Succoth, and encamped 
in Etham, in the edge of the wilderness. And the Lord went 
before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way ; 
and by night in a pillar of fire, to give th^m light ; to go by day 
and night : He took not away the pillar of the cloud by day, 
nor the pillar of fire by night, from before the people. 

*« And it was told the king of Egypt that the people fled : and 
the heart of Pharaoh and of his servants was turned against the 
people, and they said. Why have we done this, that we have let 
Israel go from serving us ? And he made ready his chariot, and 
took his people with him ; and he took six hundred chosen chari- 
ots, and all the chariots of Egypt, and captains over every one 
of them. And the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of 
Egypt, and he pursued after the children of Israel : and the chil- 
dren of Israel went out with an high hand. But the Egyptians 
pursued after them, all the horses and chariots of Pharaoh, and 
his horsemen, and his army, and overtook them encamping by 
the sea, beside Pi-hahiroth, before Baal-zephon, 

" And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel lifted 
up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians marched after them ; 
and they were sore afraid : and the children of Israel cried out 
unto the Lord. 

"And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand still, 
and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will show to you to- 
day : for the Egyptians whom ye have seen to-day, ye shal 
them again no more for ever. The Lord shall fight for you 4> 
ye shall hold your peace. 



Ik ror.TRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

" And the Lord said unto Moses, Wherefore criest thou unto 
me? speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward': 
but hft up thy rod, and stretcli out thine hand over the sea, and 
(hvideit : and the children of Israel shall go on dry ground 
through the midst of the sea. And I, behold, I will harden the 
hearts of the Egyptians, and the shall follow them : and I will 
get me honour upon Pharaoh, and upon all his host, upon his 
chariots, and upon his horsemen. And the Egyptians shall 
know that I atn the Lord, when I have gotten me honour upon 
Pharaoh, upon his chariots, and upon his horsemen. 

" And the ang-el of God, which went beibre the camp of Israel, 
removed and went behind them ; and the pillar of the cloud 
went from before their face, and stood behind them : And it 
came betwen the camp of the Egyptians nnd the camp of Israel ; 
and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light by 
night to these ; so that the one came not near tlie other all the 
night. And Moses stretched out his hand over the sea : and the 
Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that 
night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided. 
And the children of Israel went into the midst of the sea upon 
the dry ground : and the waters were a wall unto them on thesr 
right hand, and on their left. 

*' And the Egyptians pursued, and went in after them to the 
midst of the sea, even all Pharaoh's horses, his chariots, and his 
horsemen. And it came to pass, that in the mornlnjj watch the 
Lord looked unto the host of the Egyptians through the pillar of 
fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians, and 
took off their chariot wheels, that they drave them teavily : so 
that the Egyptians said, Let us flee from the face of Israel ; for 
the Lord fighteth for them against the Egyptians. 

" And the Lord said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand over the 
sea, that the waters may come again upon the Egyptians, upon their 
chariots, and upon their horsemen : And Moses stretched forth his 
hand over the sea, and the sea returned to his strength when the 
morning appeared ; and tlie Egyptians fled against it; and Ihe Lord 
overthrew the Egyptians in the midst of the sea. And the waters 
returned, and covered the chariots, and the horsemen, and all the 
host of Pharaoh that came into the sea after them ; there remain- 
ed not so much as one of them. But the children of Israel 
ed upon dry land in the midst of the sea ; and the waters 
a wall unto them on their right hand, and on their left, 
the Lord saved Israel that day out of the hand of the Egyp- 
and Israel saw the Egyptians dead upon the sea-shore. 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 325 

And Israel saw that great work which the Lord did upon the 
Egyptians ; and the people feared the Lord, and beUeved the 
Lord, and his servant Moses." 



TITU • BEFORE JERUSALEM. 

Christ, when he was upon earth, admonished his countrymen 
to submit to the political circumstances m which they were 
placed. ** Render/' said he, " to Cassar, the things that are 
Caesar's." The Roman Emperor's title was Cassar. Our 
Saviour's exhortation amounted to this: — Pay the taxes imposed 
upon you, and conform patiently to oppressions which you cannot 
remove. — But he knevv that to them his preaching was vain. 
They knew not what belonged to their peace, and Jesus fore- 
saw that they would at last p.ovoke the severest punishment 
which the Roman power could inflict. He wept over Jerusalem, 
and as he fixed his eyes upon the great temple of the Jews, de- 
clared that of it not one stone should remain upon another. 

During forty years which succeeded this prophecy, the Roman 
l3mperor and the provincials of Judea kept up mutual ill-will, 
and frequent hostility, till the Emperor Vespasian sent a powerful 
army under his son Titus against this devoted city. Mr. Milman, 
the author of the Fall of Jerusalem, represents, according to his- 
tory, that Titus lamented the necessity he was under to destroy 
Jerusalem, for he acted under the Emperor's orders, which were, 
if the Jews would not peaceably submit to the Roman arms, to 
take possession of the city at any price of severity and destruc- 
tion. 

Mr. Milman fancies Titus, while his forces were in a state of 
preparation for the attack of Jerusalem, to survey the city, and to 
express at once his admiration of her beauty and splendour, and 
his deep regret that his painful duty was to destroy all the art 
and majesty of so fair a scene. 



It must be ! 



And yet it moves me, Romans ! it confounds 
The counsel of my firm philosophy, 
That ruin's merciless ploughshare must pass o'er, 
And barren salt be sowed on yon proud city. 
As on our olive-crowned hill we stand, 
Where Kedron at our feet its scanty waters 
Distils from stone to stone with gentle motion, 

28 



326 rOETRY FOR scnooLs, 

As through a valley sacred to sweet peace, 

How boldly doth it front us ! how majestically 

Like a luxurious vineyard, the hill side 

Is hung with marble fabrics, line o'er line, 

Terrace o'er terrace, nearer still, and nearer 

To the blue heavens. 

Here bright and sumptuous palaces. 

With cool and verdant gardens interspersed ; 

Here towers of war, that frown in massy strength 

While over all hangs the rich purple eve, 

As conscious of its being her last farewell 

Of light and glory to that faded city. 

And, as our clouds of battle dust, and smoke 

Are melted into air, behold the temple, 

In undisturbed and lone serenity, 

rinding itself a solemn sanctuary 

In the profound of heaven ! 
It stands before us 

A mount of snow fretted with golden pinnacles 

The very sun as though he worshipped there,. 

Lingers upon the gilded cedar roofs : 

And down the long and branching porticoes. 

On every flower sculptured capital, 

Glitters the homage of his parting beams. 

By Hercules ! the sight might almost w in 

The offended majesty of Rome to mercy." 
Jerusalem was built upon two hills opposite to each other, &na 
divided by a valley ; the valley terminated at the fountain of Sil- 
oam. This fountain was celebrated for the sweetness and abun- 
dance of its waters, which flowed near the temple — Hence, Mil- 
ton says, 

■ Siloa's brook which flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God. 

The brook Kedron, or Cedron, separated Jerusalem from the 
Mount of Olives, on which was Gethsemene, and the garderr 
where Jesus prayed and suffered so bitterly. 



j^van's lamentation. 

Javan, a Christian soldier, after the siege of Jerusalem, thui 
deplores its destruction ; 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 327 

^' Oh ! fair and favoured city, where of old 

The balmy airs were rich with melody, 

That led her pomp beneath the cloudless sky 
In vestments flaming with the orient gold ; 
Her gold is dim, and mute her music's voice, 
The Heathen o'er her perished pomp rejoice. 

How stately then was every palm-decked street, 
Down which the maidens danced witli tinkling feet 1 . 

How proud the elders in the lofty gate ! 
How crowded all her nation's solemn feasts 1 
With white-robed Levites and high-mitred Priests ; 

How gorgeous all her Temple's sacred state ! 

Her street's are razed, her maidens sold for slaves, 
Her gates thrown down, her elders in their graves ; 
Her feasts are hojden 'mid the Gentile's scorn ; 
By stealth her Priesthood's holy garments worn ; 
And where her Temple crowned the glittering rock, 
The wandering shepherd folds his evening flock." 



ODE TO THE SAVIOUR. 

-—For thou wert born of woman ! thou didst come, 
Oh holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom. 
Not in thy dread omnipotent array. 
And not by thunders strewed 
Was thy tempestuous road ; 
Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way^ 
But thee, a soft and naked child, 

Thy mother und^filed 
In the rude manger laid to rest 
From oifher virgin breast. 

The heavens were not commanded to prepare 

A gorgeous canopy of golden air ; 

Nor stooped their lamps the enthroned fires on high 

A single silent star 

Came wandering from afar, 
4jliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky ; 

The Eastern sages leading on 
As at a jkingly throne, 



^'^^ rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

To lay tlieir gold and odours sweet 

Before thy infant feet. 
The Earth and Ocean were not hushed to hear- 
Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; 
Nor at thy presence break the voice of song 
From all the cherub choirs, 
And seraphs' burning lyres, 
Poured thro' the host of heaven the charmed clouds alon*^ 
One angel-troop the train began, 

Of all the race of man 
By simple shepherds heard alone, 
That soft Hosanna's tone. 

And when thou didst depart, no car of flame 
To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came ; 
^or visible angels mourned with drooping plumes : 

Nor didst thou mount on high 

From fatal Calvary ° * 

With all thy own redeemed out-bursting from their tombs. 
1 or thou didst bear away from earth 

But one of human birth. 
The dying felon by thy side, to be 

In Paradise with thee. 

Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance break ; 
A little while the conscious earth did shake 
At that foul deed by her fierce children done ; 

A few dim hours of day 

The world in darkness lay ; 
Then basked in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun 
While thou didst sleep within the tomb, 

Consenting to thy doom ; 
Ere yet the white robed angel shone 

Upon the sealed stone. 

And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand 
With devastation in thy red right hand, 
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew ; 
Bui thou didst haste to meet 
Thy mother's coming feet. 
And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few. 
Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise 

Into thy native skies, 
Thy human form dissolved on high 
In its own radiancv. Milman 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 3^9 

SAMUEL. 

The first chapter of the first book of Samuel relates the domes- 
iic history of that venerable man's childhood. It describes hiy 
father's and mother's mutual afiection, and the piety of Hannah- 
—Hannah prayed to God for this son, and promised that from his 
birth he should be set apart for the services of religion ; and when 
God had answered her prayer, and given her the child, as soon 
as the youn^ Samuel was old enough for the temple service, his 
mother accompanied him to the Lord's house, and presented him 
to Eli the high priest, saying, as she offered him, " Oh my lord, 
as thy soul liveth, my lord, I am the woman that stood by thee 
here, praying unto the Lord. For this child I prayed ; and the 
Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of him ; therefore 
also I have lent him to the Lord ; as long as he liveth he shall be 
lent to the Lord. And he worshipped the Lord there." Mrs. 
Hemans has made an interesting picture of lhi3 affecting trans 
iclion. 

THE HEBREW MOTHER. 

The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, 
Wnen a young mother with her first-born thence 
Went up to Zicn, for the boy was vowed 
Unto the Temple-service ; — by the hand 
She led him, and her silent soul, the while, 
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye 
Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think 
That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers. 
To bring before her God. So passed they on, 
O'er Judah's hills : and wheresoe'er the leaves 
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon. 
Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs, 
With their cool dimness, crossed the sultry blue 
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest ; 
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep 
That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch 
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, 
As at a red flower's heart. 

And where a fount 
Lay hke a twilight-star 'midst palmy shades. 
Making it^ banks green gems along the wild, 
There too she lingered, from the diamond wave 
Drawing bright water for his rosy lips, 

28*' 



'.30 POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. 

And softly parting clusters of jet curls 

To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reach'd. 

The EartWs One Sanctuary — and rapture hushed 

Her bosom, as before her, through the day, 

It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped 

In light, like floating gold. 

But when that hour 
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy 
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye 
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear 
Turned from the v^hite-robed priest, and round her arm 
Clung as the ivy clings — the deep spring-tide 
Of Nature then swelled high, and o'er her child 
Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sound 
Of weeping and sad song. — " Alas," she cried, 
'* Alas ! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me, 
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, 

And now fond thoughts arise. 
And silver cords again to earth have won me ; 
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart — 

How shall 1 hence depart ? 

How the lone paths retrace where thou wcrt playing 
So late, along the mountains, at my side ? • 

And I, in joyous pride, 
By every place of flowers my course delaying 
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair, 

Beholding thee so fair ! 

And oh ! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted, 
Will it not seem as if the sunny day 

Turned from its door away ? 
While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted. 
I languish for thy voice, which past me still 

Went like a singing rill ? 

Under the palm-trees thou no more shalt meet me, 
AVhen from the fount at evening I return, 

With the full water-urn ; 
Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me 
As 'midst the silence of the stars 1 wake, 

And watch for thy dear sake. 

And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee.^ 
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed ? 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 331 

Wilt thou not vainly spread 
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, 
To fold my neck, and lift up in thy fear, 

A cry which none shall hear ? 

What have I said, my child ? — Will He not hear theCj 
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ? 

Shall He not guard thy rest, 
And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee. 
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy ? 

Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy ! 

I give thee to thy God — the God that gave thee. 
A wellspring of deep gladness to my heart ! 

And precious as thou art, 
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee 
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled ! 

And thou shalt be His child. 

Therefore, farewell 1— I go, my soul may fail me 
As the hart panteth for the water-brooks, 

Yearning for thy sweet looks — 
But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me ; 
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, 

The Rock of Strength.— Farewell." 



at last the Fane was reached 



Fane means a place of worship. Hence ye profane, is a poetic 
expression. The word profawe, thus used, means the imholy — 
those who are not instructed in religion, or not capable of under- 
standing and feeling any thing beautiful. 

The earth's one sanctuary. Other nations besides the He 
brews observed religious worship, and had splendid temples in hon 
our of their gods — but those were false gods, and Mrs. Hemans 
supposes that the " house of the Lord in Shiloh," was the only 
temple then upon earth where the Lord had set his name, and 
where he was worshipped in the spirit and purity which he had 
revealed to a chosen people. 

Mrs. Hemans has given a brief but dehghtful sketch of the 
chmate and scenery of Judea. The " olive boughs," the "pal- 
my shades," and the fountain by the way side, according to Dr. 
Clarke, are still features of a country where, though names, rulers, 
and religions are changed, nature is still the same, and where the 
pastoral simplicity of ancient manners yet remains — where Ra- 



32 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

chel still tends the flocks, and Rebecca bears her pitcher to the 
well. 

Thomas Moore in one of his poems describes tlie delicious 
climate of S^ria and Palestine, with their productions, 

SYRIA . 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses 
Softly the light of eve reposes, 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, 

And whitens with eternal sleet. 
While summer, in a vale of flowers, 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one, who looked from upper air 
O'er all the enchanted regions there. 
How beauteous must have been the glow, 
The life, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shinmg streams, with ranks 
-Of golden melons on their banks, 
More golden where the sun light falls ; — 
Gay lizards, glitteruigon the walls 
Of ruined shrines, busy and bright 
As they were ail alive with light ; — 

And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling en the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variously in the crimson beam 
Of the warm west, — as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
The unclouded skies of Peristan ! 
And then, the mingling sounds that come. 
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, 

Banquetting through the flowery vales ; 
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods, so full of nightingales ! 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 33^ 



LINES, 



On seeing a clear stream which svpplied the ncighlovr 

hood with water. 
Gentle reader, see in me 
An emblem of true charity ; 
For, while my bounty I bestow, 
I'm neither heard nor seen to flow ; 
And I have fresh suupplies from heaven 
For every cup of water given. 

Bishop Hoadly. 



TIIOBIAS MOORE. 

Mr. Moore is a native of Ireland, only a small portion of his 
poetry is of a serious character : but two of his hymns are select- 
ed as illustrative of his talent for sacred poetry. 



THE UNIVERSE IS GOd's TEMPLE. 

To thee whose temple is all space, 

Whose altar ^arth, sea, skies, 
One chorus let all beings raise, 

AU nature's incense rise Pope- 

The turf shall be nsy fragrant shrine, 
My temple, Lord I that arch of thine ; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs, 
And silent thoughts riiy only prayers*. 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves. 
When murmuring ht;rnevvard to their caves. 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of thee! 

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown. 
All light and silence, like thy throne ! 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy heaven, on which 'tis blissto look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame.. 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

*Pii Grant tacite 



33 i POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

1*11 read thy anger in the rack 

Tthat clouds awhile the day-beam's track ; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through ! 

There's nothing bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity. 

There's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy love. 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 



THE KINGDOM COME. 

These verses repeat the figures by which the Hebrew Prophets 
Isaiah, and othi rs indicate the reign of Christ. The Jews be- 
lieved he would be their political ruler, and the splendid oriental 
imagery by which the circumstances of his power were illustrated 
in the prophetical writings, led them to presume that he would 
be arrayed in all the magnificence of eastern monarchs. 

Those who know the history of the Christian religion, know, 
that though the life of Jesus was humble, and his death ignomin- 
ious, yet kivgs and princes J "from every nook of earth" have 
acknowledged the truth of this religion, and that every nation of 
civilized men is subject in some measure to the blessed influences 
of Christianity. 

A wake, arise*! thy light is come ! 

The nations that before outshone thee. 
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 

The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray. 

From every nook of earth shall cluster ; 
And kings and princes haste to pay 

Their homage to thy rising lustre. 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters 

*PeopIe of God. 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Thy exiled sons returned to thee 

To thee return thy home-sick daughters. 

And camels rich, from Midian's tents 
Shall lay their treasures down before thee, 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee. 

See who are these, that like a cloud, 
Are gathering from all earth's dominions, 

Like doves long absent, when allowed 

Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions ' 

Surely the isles shall wait for thee, — 

The ships of Tarshish round shall hover^ 
To bring thy sons across the sea. 

And waft their gold and silver over : 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace— 

The fir, the pine, the palm victorious 
Shall beautify thy holy place. 

And make the ground we tread on gloriou: 

No more shall discord haunt thy ways 

Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 
But thou shall call the portSih praise. 

And thou shall name thy walls salvation. 

The sun no more shall make thee bright, 

Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee- 
But God fiimself shall be thy light, 

And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down ; 

A ray from heaven itself descended. 
Shall hght thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended. 

My own elect and righteous land ! 

Thy branch, for evergreen andverrtn.;. 
Which I have planted with this hand. 

Live thou shalt, in life eternal. 

This piece, throughout, is an address to a people chosen b' 
■d for his own.— The Jews believe that tliey were this peoplo 



>o(i rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



and that tlieir city, Jerusalem, is the metropolis of this happy na- 
tion ; but they, whose God is the Lord, form this peaple ever} 
where.— *' He that worketh rio-hteousness"' of all nations, be- 
lengs to the great family of the just, and the places wherd he 
abides is holy, for he dwelleth in God, and God in him. 



MRS. BARBAULD. 

Anna Laetitia Barbauld was the daughter of Dr. Aikin : she h. 
memorable for her happy talent in instructing the young, for her 
accomplishments, her elegant criticisms, her excellent moral 
writings irt poetry and prose, and above all, for her sincere piety 
and exemplary conduct through life. This lady died at the age 
of eighty-one, near London. March, 1825. 

In the third clmoter of .'labakkuk the prophet gives a sublime 
description t)f God's power, and of his dipleasure against the 
wicked. The w.'ioJe passage is highly Jig urntivc, only a small 
part of it can be iiteraiiy understood. But the '- terrors of the 
Lord" did not alarm the propliet ; he knew that the meek, and 
they who seek fgliieousness, are safe in the day of God's anger; 
and though he trembled at the indignation of God against the 
transgressor, he trusted in the mercy which endureth for ever ; 
■and he says, 

" Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be 
in the vines ; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall 
yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut ofl' from the fold, and there 
shall be no herd in the stalls : Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I 
I will joy in the God of my salvation.*' Mrs. Barbauld ha? 
paraphrased this passage thus : * 

Praise to God, immortal praise. 
For the love that crowns our days ; 
Bounteous source of every joy ! 
Let thy praise our tongues employ. 

For the blessings of the field ; 
For the stores the gardens yield ; 
For the'Vme's exalted juice ; 
For the generous olive's use. 

Flocks that whiten all the plain ; 
Velio w sheaves of ripened grain • 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Clouds that drop their fattening dews ; 
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse : 

All that spring with bounteous hand, 
Scatters o'er the smihng land ; 
All that liberal autumn pours 
From her rich o'erflowing stores : 

These to thee, our God ! we owe. 
Source whence all our blessings flow 
And for these our souls shall raise 
Grateful vows and solemn praise. 

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 
From its stem the ripening ear ; 
Should the fig tree's blasted shoot 
Drop her green untimely fruit : 

Should the vine put forth no more, 
Nor the olive yield her store : 
Though the sickening flocks should falh 
And the hfeards desert the stall ; 

Should thine altered hand restrain 
Vernal showers and latter rain j 
Blast each opening bud of joy^ 
And the rising year destroy : 

Still to thee our souls shall raise 
Gratetul vows and solemn praise ; 
And, when every blessing*s flown j 
Love thee — for thyself alone ! 



SS": 



MISS WILLIAMS. 

Helen Maria Williams was an English lady, long resident in 
France. She subsisted by the exertion of her talents, as a 
writer and translator, and was considered an ornament to socie- 
ty from the elegance of her conversation, and the liberality 
of her sentiments. Miss William died in Paris in 1829. A sin- 
gle specimen of her poetry will serve to inspire reverence for 
her piety. 

GOD SEEN IN ALL. 

My God ! all nature owns Ihy ^ay ; 
Thou giv'stthe night and thou the day -. 

29 



rOETRY FOK SCHOOLS. 

When all thy loved creation wakes, 
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks. 
And bathes in dew the opening flower, 
To thee we owe her fragrant hour ; 
And when she pours her choral song, 
Her melodies to ihee belong. 

Or, when in paler tints arrayed, 
The evening slowly spreads her shades , 
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom. 
Can more than day's enlivening bloom, 
Still every fond and vain desire, 
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire ; 
From earth the pensive spirit free, 
And lead the softened heart to thee. 

In every scene thy hands have dressed. 

In every form by thee impressed. 

Upon the mountain's awful head, 

Or where the sheltering woods are spread 

In every note that swells the gale, 

Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale, 

The cavern's depth, or echoing grove, 

A voice is heard of praise and love. 

As o'er thy works the seasons roll, 
And soothe with change of bliss the soul. 
O never may their smiling train 
Pass o'er the human sense in vain ! 
But oft as on their charms we gaze, 
Attune the wondering soul to praise ; 
And be the joys that most we prize. 
The joys that from thy favour rise. 



BABYLON. 



And now from out the watery floor 

A city rose, and well she wore 

Her beauty, and stupendious walls, 

And towers that touched the stars, and haljj 

Pillared with whitest marble, whence 

Palace on lofty palace sprung ; 

AVhere, amongst silver waterfalls. 



rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ' 339 

Cedars and spice-trees and green bowers, 
a\nd sweet winds playing with all the flowers 
Of Persia and Araby, 

Walked princely shapes : some with an air 
Like warriors, some like ladies fair 
Listening, and, amidst all, the king 
Nebuchadnezzar rioting 
In supreme magnificence. 

This was famous Babylon. 

Barry Cornwall. 

Babylon was the capital of Chaldea or Babylonia. The exact 
site of Babylon is disputed, and it is equally doubtful who was its 
founder ; but Nebuchadnezzar, about six centuries before Christ, 
repaired, extended, and adorned it, so that its magnificence was 
the boast of this vainglorious monarch. — " Is not this great Ba- 
bylon, that I have built for the house of the kingdom, by the 
might of my power, and for the honor of my majesty ?" 

In scripture this magnificence is extolled in many places — T'he 
** great Babylon ;" the '« glory of kingdoms ;" the *' beauty of 
Chaldea's excellency ;" and " the praise of the whole earth," 
besides many other appropriate expressions, are applied to this 
ancient city. Babylon was a square enclosed by walls, and each 
of its sides measured, according to some writers, fifteen miles; 
but it is not presumed that it was wholly iiiiiabited. or that the 
houses were commodious. It was embellished by gardens sup- 
ported by arches, in terraces raised one above another on which 
the soil was sufficiently deep to permit the growth of large trees ; 
and luxuriant shrubs and splei did flowers were disposed to pro- 
duce the most brilliant eflect. These are usually called hanging 
gardens, 

Cyrus, king of Persia conquered Babylon, B. C. 538 ; and 
Xerxes, on his return I'rom his Grecian expedition, laid it in 
ruins. Alexander of Macedon proposed to rebuild Babylon, but 
he did not live to eflect that intention. Soon after the death of 
Alexander, B. C. 336, 500,000 of the inhabitants of Babylon 
were withdrawn to Seleucia, and after that lime Babylon became 
that desolate place described by the prophet Isaiah. i 

Isaiah's prophecies are dated from 760, to 798, B. C. and 
though this was nearly two centuries before the captivity of his 
countrymen, and more than three previous to the ruin of Babylon, 
the prophet foretels the restoration of the Jews, and the desola- 
tion of their oppressors. 

The 15th chapter of Isaiah contains a gracious promise of 



JiO POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

God's mercy to Ins people, and a sublime and highly poetica 
denunciation of Divine vengeance agamst the proud powci 
which enslaved them. 

" For the Lord will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet choose 
Israel, and set them in their own land : and the strangers shall 
1)0 joined with them, and they shall cleave to the house of Jacob. 
And the people shall take them, and bring them to their place : 
and the house of Israel shall possess them m the land of the Lord 
for servants and handmaids : and they shall take them captives, 
whose captives they were ; and they shall rule over their oppres- 
sors. And it shall come to pass in the day that the Lord shall 
give thee rest from thy sorrow, and from thy fear, and from the 
hard bondage wherein thou wast made to serve. 

*' That thou shalt take up this proverb against the king of Ba- 
bylon, and say, How hath the oppressor ceased ! the golden city 
ceased ! The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked, and the 
sceptre of the rulers. He who smote the people in wrath with 
a continual stroke, he that ruled the nations in anger, is psrsecu- 
ted, and noneliindreth. The whole earth is at rest, and is quiet • 
they break forth into singing. Yea, the fir trees rejoice at thee, 
and the cedars of Lubanon, saying, since thou art laid down, no 
feller is come up aga,inst us. Hell from beneath is rnovcd for 
thee to meet thee at thy coming : it stirith up the dead for thee 
even all the chief ones of the earth ; it raiseth up from thci; 
thrones all the kings of the nations. All they shall speak and 
say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we ? art thou be- 
come like unto us? Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and 
the noise of thy viols : the worm is spread under thee, and the 
worms cover thee. 

*' How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of th«' 
morning ! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst 
weaken the nations! For thou hast said in thine h€art, I will a- 
scend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars ofGod : 
I will also sit upon the mount of the congregation, in the sidc.'^ 
of the north : I will ascend above the heights of the clouds : 1 
will be like the most High. Yet thou shalt be brought down to 
hell, to the sides of the pit. They that see thee shall narrouly 
look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, is this the man that 
made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms ; that made 
the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities thereof : that 
opened not the house o( his prisoners ? All the kings of the na- 
tions, even all ofihem, lie in glory, every one in his own house. 

<' But thou art castout of the grave like an abominable branch 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 34 i 

and as the raiment of those that are slain, thrust through with a 
sword, that go down to the stones of the pit ; as a carcass trod- 
den under feet. Thou shalt not be joined with them in burial, he- 
clause thou hast destroyed thy land, and slain thy people : the seed 
of evil doers shall never be renowned. Prepare slaughter for his 
children for the iniquity of their fathers ; that they do not rise, nor 
possess the land, nor fill the face of the world with cities. For I 
will rise up against them, saith the Lord of hosts, and cut off from 
Babylon the name, and remnant, and son, and nephew, saith the 
Lord. I will also make it a possession ior the bittern, and pools of 
water : and I will sweep it with the besom of destruction, saith 
the Lord of hosts. 

'' The Lord of hosts hath sworn, saying, Surely as I have 
thought, so shall it come to pass ; and as I have purposed so shall 
it stand ; That I will break the Assyrian in my land, and upon 
my mountains tread him under foot : then shall his yoke depart 
from oft' them, and his burden depart from off their shoulders." 

The consummateness of tha destruction which was foreshown 
by Isaiah, is yet more expressively described in the Apocalypse oi 
St. John. 

" That great city, Babylon, shall be thrown down, and shall be 
found no more at all. And the voices of harpers, and musicians, 
and of pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee : 
and no craftsman, of whatsoever craft he be, shall be found any 
more in thee ; and the sound of a millytone shall be heard no 
more at all in thee ; and the light of a candle shall shine no more 
at all in thee ; and the voice of the bridegroom and the bride shall 
be heard no more at all in thee." Rev. c. 18, v. 21 — 23. 

It is proper to remark that St. .John, who wrote this passage, 
lived long after the destruction of Babylon, and it is supposed he 
did not intend to represent the ruin of Babylon herself, hut of Rome. 
Rome, from her magnitude and splendour, .was sometimes called 
a second Babylon ; She was at the submit of her glory when th^e a- 
postle wrote the prophetic book of the Revelations, and he foresaw 
that her fate nearly resembled that of the Chaldean Babylon. 

TO A FRIEND ON NEW' YEAR's DAY. 

Suddenly to cease, or gently to decline, 
Oh, power of Mercy ! may the lot be mine : 
Let me not linger on the verge of fate, 
Nor weary duty to its utmost date ; 
Losing, in pain's impatient gloom confined^. 



•>4* rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

Freedom of thought and dignity of mind ; 
Till pity views, untouched, the parting breaili 
And cold indifference adds a pang to death. 
Yet if to suffer long my doom is cast, 
Let me preserve this temper to the last. 
Oh let me still from self my feelings bear, 
To sympathize with sorrow's starting tear : 
Nor sadden at the smile which joy bestows, 
Though far from me her beam ethereal g;lows. 
Let me remember in the gloom of age, 
To smile at follies happier youth engage ; 
See them fallacious, but indulgent spare 
The fairy dreams experience cannot share ; 
Nor view the rising morn with jaundiced eye, 
Because /or wc, no more the sparkling moments fly 

The amiable and sensible writer of the preceding verses, waf. 
Mrs. John Hunter, the wife of the celebrated anatomist. 



A RIDDLE. 



From rosy lips we issue forth, 
From east to west, from north to south. 
Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day, 
Abroad we take our airy way. 
We fasten love, we kindle strife 
The bitter and the sweet of life. 
Piercing and sharp, we wound like steel, 
Now smooth as oil, those wounds we heal 
Not strings of pearl are valued more. 
Nor gems enchased in golden ore • 
Yet thousands of us every day 
Worthless and vile are thrown away. 
Ye wise ! secure with gates of brass 
The double doors through which we pass - 
For once escaped, back to our cell 
Nor art of man can us compel. 

Barbauld. 

^' Riddles are of high antiquity, and were the employment oi 
grave men formerly. The first riddle that we have on record 
was proposed by Sampson at a wedding feast to the young men 
of the Philistines, who were invited upon the occasion. The 
ieast lasted seven days ; and if they found it out within seven days, 
Sampson was to give them th'ijty suits of clothes and thirty- 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 



;k 



sheet ; and if they could not guess it, they were' to forfeit 
the same to him. The riddle was: 'Out of the eater came 
forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.* 
He had killed a lion, ani?left i^ carcass; on returning sooii 
after, he found a swarm of bees had made use of the skeleton as 
a hive, and it was full of honey-comb. Struck with the oddness 
of the circumstance, he made a riddle of it." 



LUCY AIKIN. 

Miss Aikin is a niece of the late Mrs. Barbauld. She is 
known as the historian of the British , Queen, Elizabeth, [and'her 
successor, James I ; but she has not confined jiier attention to 
such high themes, she has composed books for the young, and 
her little work, Poetry for Children, is among the best initiatoTy 
collections. Many of the subsequent pieces are extracted from 
it. 

THE BEGGAR MAX- 

Around the fire one wintry night 
The farmer's rosy children sat ; 
The faggot lent its blazing light. 
And jokes went round and careless chat 

When, hark ! a gentle hand tljey hear 
Low tapping at the bolted door, 
And thus, to gain their willing ear, 
A feeble voice was heard to implore. 

'' Cold blows the blast across the moor 
The fleet drives hissing in the wind j 
- Yon toilsome mountain lies before, 
A dreary treeless waste behind. 

My eyes are weak, and dim with age, 
No road, no path, can I descry, 
And these poor rags ill stand the rage 
Of such a keen inclement sky. 

So faint I am — these tottering feet 
No more my palsied frame can bear ; 
My freezing heart forgets to beat, 
And drifting snows my tomb prepare. 

Open your hospitable door, 

And shield me fri>m tiie biting blast : 



i 1 POETRY FOR SCII00L5<. 

Cold, cold it blows across the moor, 
The weary moor that I have passed !" 

With hasty step the farmer ran. 
And close beside the fire tliey place 
The poor hali frozen beggar man, 
With shaking limbs and blue-pale face. 

The little children flocking came 
And chafed his frozen hands in theirs. 
And busily the good old dame 
A comfortable mess prepares. 

Their kindness cheered his drooping soul 
And slowly down his wrinkled cheek 
The big rounJ tears were seen to roll, 
And told the thanks he could not speak. 

The children too began t.o sigh, 
And all their merry chat was o'er ; 
And yet they felt, trey knew not why, 
More glad than they r.ait done before. 

Lucy Alxi 



IXDIA. 

Where sacred Ganges pours along the {)lain. 
And Indus rolls to swj'! tiie eastern main, 
What awful scenes the curiour mind delight, 
What wonders burst upon the dazzled sight ! 
There giant palms lift high their tufted heads, 
The plantain wide his graceful foliage spreads ; 
Wild in the woods the active monkey springs, 
The chattering parrot claps his painted wings ; 
'Mid tall bamboos lies hid the deadly snake, 
The tiger couches in the tangled brake ; 
The spotted axis bounds in fear away, 
The leopard darts on his defenceless prey. 
'Mid reedy pools and ancient forests rade, 
(Jool, peaceful haunts of awful solitude ! 
The huge rhmoceros rends the crashing bought, 
And stately elephants untroubled browse. 
Two tvrant seasons rule the wide domain, 



POETRY FCR SHOOLS. 

Scorch with dry heat, or drench with floods oi- rain 
Now feverish herds rush madding o'er the plains, 
And cool in shady streams their throbbing veins, 
The birds drop hfeless from the silent spray, 
And nature faints beneath the fiery day ; 
Then bursts the deluge on the sinking shore. 
And teeming Plenty empties all her store. 

Lucy Aikiii. 



THE SWALLOW. 

Swallow ! that on rapid wing 

Sweepst along in sportive ring, 

Now here, now there, now low, now high. 

Chasing keen the painted fly» — 

Could I skim away with thee 

Over land and over sea, 

What streams would flow, what cities rise. 

What landscapes dance before mine eyes ! 

First from England's southern shore 

'Cross the channel we would soar, 

And our vent'rous course advance 

To the lively plains of France ; 

Sport among the feather'd choir 

On the verdant banks of Loire, 

Skim Garonne's majestic tide. 

Where Bordeaux adorDs his side ; 

Cross the towering Pyrenees, 

^Mid orange groves and myrtle trees ; 

Entering then the wild domain 

Where wolves prowl round the flocks of Spain 

Where silk-worms spin, and olives grow, 

And mules plod surely on and slow. 

Steering then for many a day 

Far to south our course away, 

From Gibraltar's rocky steep, 

Dashing o'er the foaming deep, 

On sultry Afric's fruitful shore 

We'd rest at length, our journey o'er, 

Till vernal gales should gently play 

To waft us on our homeward way. 

Lucy Aikiii 



^10 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 

THE traveller's RETURN. 

Sweet to the morning traveller 

The sky-lark's earliest song, 
Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits 

The dewy lights among. 

And cheering to the traveller 
The gales that round him play, 

When faint and wearily he drags 
Along his noontide way. 

And when beneath th' unclouded sun 

Full wearily toils he, 
The flowing water makes to him 

Most pleasant melody. 

And when the evening light decays, 

Afld all is calm around, 
There is sweet music to his ear 

In the distant sheep-belPs sound. 

And sweet the neighbouring church's bell 
That marks his journey's bourn ; 

But sweeter is the voice of love 
That welcomes his return • 

Anthology. 



THE riEDMOWTESE AND HIS MARMOT. • 

From my dear native moorlands, for many a day 

Thro' fields and 'hro' cities Fve wander'd away. 

Tho" I merrily sing, yet forlorn is my lot ; 

Fm a poor Piedmcntese, and I show a marmot. 

This pretty marmot in a mountain's steep side 

Made a burrow, himself and his young ones to hide. 

The bottom they c<;vered with moss and with hay, 

And stopped up the entrance, and snugly they lay. 

They carelessly slept till the cold winter blast. 

And the hail, and the deep drifting snow-shower was past. 

But the warbling of April awoke them again 

To crop the young plants, and to frisk on the plain. 

Then I caught this poor fellow, and taught him to dance, 

And we liv'd by his tricks as we rambled through France, 



POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 347 

But he droops and grows drowsy as onward we roam, 
And he and his master both pine for their home. 
Let your charity then hasten back to his cot 
The poor Piedmontese witiihis harmless marmot. 

mi. . • .. , . , LucijAikln. 

ine marmot is a httle animal somewhat like a squirrel ; he is 
taken in Alpine countries, is susceptible of education, and may 
be taught tricks, which are exhibited for the emolument of some 
poor fellow who carries him about through Euroj)ean cities. The 
marmot is a torpid animal— falling into a long sleep on the ap- 
proach of winter. ^ 



THE ORANGE TREE. 

In the soft bosom of Campania's vale, 
When now the wintry tempests all are fled. 
And genial summer breathes her gentle gale. 
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head ; 
From every branch the balmy flowerets rise, 
On every bough the golden fruits are seen ; 
With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies : 
But, in the midst of all its blooming pride, 
A sudden blast from Apenninus blows, 

Cold with perpetual snows ; 
The tender j^lighted plant shrinks up its leaves, and die.- 

Lord Littletoyu 

GENERATIONS OF MAN. 

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 

^ow green in youth, now withering on the ground. 

Another race the following spring supplies, 

Ihey fall successive, and successive rise : 

feo generations in their course decay. 

So flourish these when those are passed away. 

Pope's Homer 

TO A BEE. 

Thou wert out betimes, thou busy busy Bee ' 

When around I took my early wav, 
Before the cow from her resting-place ' 
Had risen up, and left her trace 



POETRY FOR SCIIOOLb. 

On the meadow witli dew so gray, 
f saw thee*, thou busy busy Bee ? 

'J'hou wert alive, thou busy busy Bee ! 

When the crowd in their sleep were dead. 
Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour, 
When the sweetest odour comes from the flower. 

Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed, 
And be wise and copy thee, thou busy busy Bee ! 

Thou wert worliing late, thou busy busy Bee ! 

After the fall of the cJstus flower, 
I heard thee last as I saw thee first, 
When the primrose tree blossom was ready to burs( 

In the coolness of the evening hour^ 
I heard thee, thou busy busy Bee ! 

Thou art a miser, thou busy busy Bee ! 

Late and early at employ ; 
Still on thy golden stores intent, 
J'hy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent 

What thy age will nover enjoy. 
I will not copy thee, thou miserly Bee ! 

Thou art a fool, thou busy busy Bee, 

Thus for another to toil ! 
Thy master waits till thy work is done, 
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone. 

And then he will seize the spoil. 
And will murder thee, thou poor little Bee ' 

Anthology, 



RECOVERY FR03I SICKNESS. 

See the wretch that long has tost 

On the the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost, 

And breathe and walk again : 
The meanest flow'ret of the vale, 

The simplest note that swells the gale. 
The common sun, the air, the skies, - 

To him are opening paradise. 

Gray 

FINIS. 




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